Starkid Fan-Fictions
by Xx-3044-xX
Summary: An assortment of one-shots written about the Starkids. [Pairings include Holden/Stepien, Criss/Lopez, Richter/Beatty, etc., etc. Finished being updated, more can be found on my tumblr.]
1. Breathing (Breredith)

_It's hard to describe the exact feeling when you know. I'm not talking about the moment when it actually ends. Not the moment when you hear the words. I'm talking about when you can just tell. When you can feel the water start dripping through the dam and there's nothing you can do to stop the impending flood. For a while you try to convince yourself that you're happy with what's about to occur. You try to convince yourself that you don't care if the dam gives way. Yet before you can even realize it, you've thrust your finger into the dam. Without even realizing it you've gone from total indifference to willing to risk life and limb to stop the leak. Willing to stand there for as long as it takes for the water to recede. It had to become real first, maybe, before you truly realized you didn't want it to end. And this 'finger in the dam' plan seems to work in the beginning. You can tell some water is still getting through but you don't care because it's working. So what if you have to stand here for eternity plugging the hole…at least the dam hasn't given way. You can do this. You can stop the flood. At least the dam hasn't given way. _  
_But eventually there comes a time when you're standing in front of the dam and you realize there's nothing you can do to stop the tide. And you think back to when you first felt those drops of water on the dry side of the dam. Saw those first signs that the dam wasn't structurally sound. And you realize something about the whole experience. You realize the worst part about all of this won't be when the dam gives way. Not when the waters rise and wipe out roads. Not when people flee their hopes with photo albums held tightly. The worst part was when you first noticed those small, significant drops on your side of the dam. When you knew the flood was coming no matter what you did. That feeling is partially freeing. Knowing now with the dam breaking apart all around you that you've passed the hardest part. You're sure you've passed the hardest part. _  
_You think that up until the very moment the dam bursts and icy water hits you like a freight train. And in that moment you realize you were wrong. You yearn for the leaky helpless feeling because it meant you weren't drowning. At least the dam was intact then. You long for those times you lied to yourself about not seeing the initial drops. When you lied to yourself saying you were convinced you could stop Mother Nature herself with one of your fingers. You long for that as the water swallows you up. This is the worst part. Drowning._

Well, she certainly wasn't a fan of drowning.

Meredith looked closer at the book in her hands. The paper was a bit frayed with well-worn fondness, but that made it softer to her fingers, though it did obscure the words a bit. The words themselves were well-written, and she was left with a minorly cathartic feeling. She wondered what this foreshadowed in the book; obviously some huge occurrence and how they deal with it - but it had the ring of truth to it, and though a very realistic metaphor, she felt it to be honest. She liked that in reading material; an honest feel about it, no matter what genre, was always a good thing. It tended to intrigue the reader, draw them in further.

Not even two pages in and she loved it already. She'd have to thank Brian later for lending it to her.

Brian wondered how far Meredith was in the book. He looked at the empty slot it left in his bookshelf, and began to consider what part she was at. He knew it by heart, the book, down to every last punctuation mark. It really depended on when she started, but he knew her normal speed of reading. Let's see… knowing Meredith, she'd have gone home after rehearsal, taken a long, hot shower, and that would've been maybe forty-five minutes total. She' get into her favorite pajamas, which were always slung carelessly over the side of her bed. That's be another three minutes or so, and she'd keep her hair wrapped up in a towel. Then she'd make herself some hot chocolate, and that would be another six minutes or so, so… she'd probably have started about half an hour ago, he reasoned, glancing at the clock. And knowing her speed of reading, she'd be right at…

_"You know, not everybody is a decent person," said Adela seriously. "There are monsters out there who pretend to be people and put on such a convincing act that when they come 'clean', they're dirtier than before."_

_Wesley had no idea what she was talking about. He knew not everyone was a decent person. But what monsters was she talking about?_

_Adela saw the confusion in his eyes. She sighed. "Never mind," she said, exasperated and waving him off; "But for when you _do_ understand, know that I'll be right here."_

Meredith understood perfectly.

Monsters out there… who pretended to be people and were all the worse for it. Pretended they weren't what they were and then what they were was twisted into some abomination while they were pretending it didn't exist. If you pretended to be something you're not for long enough, you turn into something worse than what you're pretending to be… and the most terrible part was, that new beast you'd unleashed by keeping it closeted is now you, and you can't get away from it.

This was a really good book. She definitely had to thank Brian for it… but not now. She wanted to read more.

He took a sip of his tea and made a face. He'd made it wrong again. When would he get the hang of that?

His average nightly routine was being carried out without a second thought. Because his first and only thought was how Meredith was liking the book or how far into it she was, etc., etc. His body moved without him telling it to; first through a shower (that was ice-cold, not that he noticed), then into his pajamas (for tonight, an old t-shirt and sweatpants, he'd forgotten to wash his real pajamas), and now he was standing in his kitchen, drinking tea. Tea that he'd made incorrectly and was being torn from his thoughts because of.

He grimaced and looked at the clock on the stove. She'd be right about…

_"No!" Felicity screamed at him. "You left us! Me, Tom, Mother! You left us without a word or a thought! And now you have a new family that I'm hearing about after thirteen years‽"_

_"Liccy -"_

_"NO!" she screeched, her hand flying to the picture on the wall beside her and her fingers curling around the frame so tightly the shaking from her hand made the glass over the picture rattle. Her father's eyes widened. "Did you think we weren't loving enough to forgive you? Or did you just not want us in your life? Would we contaminate your new family? Is that it‽"_

_"No, I -"_

_"STOP IT!" she bellowed now, her hand almost plowing through the wall as she dragged the picture down, hearing the satisfying shatter of it on the floor as it broke as she had all those years ago. "_I_ was the one who had to watch Mother become a psycho! _I_ was the one who screwed up raising Tom because you never raised me right and made Mother unable to! _I _was the one who had to watch her deteriorate until she couldn't feed herself! _I_ was the one who read his suicide note! _I_ was the one who had to check her into the institution! _I_ was the one who found his body! And where were you? Starting a new family!"_

_"Janet," he said, using her middle name warningly._

_Not just her blood, but her skin boiled with the fury he'd sparked._

_"_YOU DO NOT CALL ME THAT!_" _

_He flinched back from the venom in her voice and she felt an odd sense of pride in herself._

_"I don't know who this new family is. I don't know what kind of people they are. But I know they deserve better than you. You ruined my home, my family, my happiness, my life, and now you're coming back hoping it's going to be hugs and kisses and _forgiveness_? What if you ruin them the same way you ruined me? Nobody deserves that!"_

_Felicity took a menacing step forward, not caring about the glass shard that dug painfully into her foot. He took a step back, his face alight with terror in the side of her she'd kept bottled up since he'd left._

_"You broke ME!" she hurled the words at him like the sharp edges of glass she'd stepped on. "You killed me! Do you know what it's like to cry yourself to sleep for thirteen years? No, you don't! You are a monster! A criminal! You're sick! SICK! _SICK_!" He flinched as she took another step, this one miraculously glass-free._

_And suddenly, she was more tired than angry; but the left-overs from her livid rant churned her blood still and made it run warm, empowering, through her veins. She raised a steady finger, and in a voice that was eerily calm, said, "I want you out of my house, and out of my life, and if you ever dare to come back into either, I will kill you like you killed me. Not with words, not with violence. I will kill you inside and watch the mask you make yourself put on rot until you die crying the same tears that usually welcome the nightmares."_

_And she only collapsed when she saw his car back out of her driveway and the headlights disappear into the dark of the windless night._

Meredith shivered, her blood having run cold. Poor Felicity, she thought. She completely understood the character. The Dad was malicious, and Felicity… well, she'd had thirteen years of failure and disappointment and tears to deal with because of him. She raised her own shaky hand and laughed a shaky laugh as she wiped away the loose tear on her cheek with jerky movements, the hot wetness of the tear contrasting with the cold, papery feel of her skin.

She needed a break from this book. It was giving her all sorts of emotions. But she just couldn't put it down. She was internally cursing and praising Brian for being willing to part with this gift of the Gods, and turned the next page.

He raised her own shaky hand and laughed a shaky laugh as he wiped away the loose tear on his cheek with jerky movements, the hot wetness of the tear contrasting with the cold, papery feel of his skin. He remembered reading that for the first time. He had goosebumps all over his body. The author really was a miracle worker when it came to emotions. One minute, she'd make you furious. And the next, weepy; and the next, thoughtful, and so on and so forth until you thought you'd felt everything you could just reading that book.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. His head was cushioned by the pillow under it, his weight held down by the blankets that were on top of the rest of him. The pitter-pat, pitter-pat of the rain on the roof was distantly above him, up another ten or so stories, but he could hear it pounding on his bedroom wall and window. It made a very nice, soothing, beating sound, like a thousand little, baby hearts, all beating at different times, but all of them in one huge group - one huge family. He could just imagine the smell of it on the grass tomorrow… opening day, he thought to himself slightly, but then his thoughts were stolen by the idea of Meredith again. She'd be reading…

_"Aren't you going to say it?" demanded Wesley, his tone accusatory. He felt brave saying it, and feeling brave was a lot better than feeling like your heart dropped to the floor, shattered into a million pieces, and then raked up and down your body likes knives._

_Adela shook her head. "I'll do it later," she said, smelling the still air of the night, hating it - still air always meant something bad coming. "Right now, you need me to say something else."_

_"You're right," said Wesley, and then bitterly followed it with, "as always."_

_"Hey," said Adela sternly, but her voice still gentle - "I was right, and I was right again just now. But that does not entitle be to bragging rights - this isn't something you brag about. This is a cruelty, and cruelty is something you cry about."_

_He looked at her then, really looked at her - her deep, rich brown hair, all wavy and messy in the bun she had it in and it was falling out of. Her eyes, though he thought them gray before, were thousands of different colors, all fading and then reappearing in the most brilliant ballet, but behind a cloud of dense fog. Her freckles, darting across her nose and cheeks like water spiders on a pond's surface. And she was the most glorious thing he'd ever seen._

_And so, when her words hit him, he was understandably frustrated when his vision was clouded with tears. But his frustration let up a bit when she took him into her arms. "Hey," she crooned softly. "I'm not gonna tell you it's going to be okay, because I can't possibly know that. But I can tell you that you are a great person, worthy of someone as great as you are. You're not perfect, nobody is, but until you love your unexplainable flaws - the ones that can't be fixed - as part of you, nobody else will, either." And she pulled back, and though her shoulder was now stained with his tears, she smiled at him kindly. "Your perfections and imperfections make up what you are, Wes. The combination is what makes you you. And believe me," she said softly, "If you change in any respect other than self-confidence, you won't be the same old Wes, that I know, love and comfort." And she tossed her arms around his shoulder casually. "Come on inside, we'll watch a movie or something. Your choice."_

Meredith smiled benignly, and then wondered why the words were so hard to make out - and she realized it was because the lights had gone out and she hadn't noticed. She looked up in panic, and, sure enough, all the electricity was out, not just the lights. Coupled with the downpour from outside and the complete empty darkness of the time of night it was, she was in total darkness and hadn't even known because she'd been so involved in the book.

She grew slightly frantic inside her head, but at the same time sat as still as a statue. How was she going to be able to finish the book? She had a whole chapter left! And she'd never be able to sleep afterwards if she didn't have some sort of drink to calm her down. This book was an emotional roller coaster.

_Brian!_ she thought. That was it! He'd lent her the book, he'd understand her need for electricity still - and with the different apartment building he lived in, it was entirely plausible that he had power. He'd loan her the couch and a lamp, no problem. She could finish reading!

Brian rolled over in irritation, hoping to be able to sleep. The rain was soothing his mind into a stupor, but his body, for some reason, couldn't sleep. He sighed. He knew the reason, but… he yawned… it wasn't his fault he was going over the whole book in his head. Meredith was reading it!

Meredith…

Was a pleasant thought. A pleasant girl, after all. Very pleasant. Funny, pretty, talented… and he was sure she was appreciating the amazing quality of the book right n-

_Knock knock knock knock!_

He wondered who was at his door, especially at this time of night. Did the power go out, or something? He wondered. It wasn't as if he'd have cared, but he could see his digital clock figures still alight on the dashboard clock next to him. Well, he was now fully curious (in a sleepy way), and he threw the covers off of him, and stepped onto the cold carpet flooring, wincing with each winterized step he took, feeling as if his feet were falling off from frostbite. He made his way slowly to the door, opened it, and…

"M-Meredith?" asked Brian, his voice groggy and his eyes still adjusting to the lights on in the hallway. "What are you doing here?"

She tapped the book urgently. "The power went out in my building," she said told him, "and I have one chapter left. Could you -"

"Oh, I understand," he said, rubbing his temple in small circles and awakening himself slowly from the haze of almost-sleep. "Yeah, come on in." He reached over and flicked the light switch on, blinking a couple times with the flooded warmth that nearly blinded him after the action. He stepped aside, and she came in. He stood there for a moment after she passed, and then closed the door, and shook his head to wake himself up.

_Drowning is the worst part. But what is the best? And who gives a damn? Sputtering the water from your lungs, you feel the air scrape mercilessly against your throat and hate it, but at the same time, you're thinking, "Air! AIR! Oh, you're wonderful, come on, AIR!" You go your whole life, breathing this air easily, saying "It's always there and will always be." And then, after you're done drowning and the air reaches you again, you realize just how marvelous it is, how astounding it is, and you either thank your deity for it or thank the star dust that made it as you take in gulps of it despite it burning your nose and chest. This is the best part - just breathing afterwards. That's the best part.__ Breathing._

Meredith took one long, long breath.

"Enjoyed it, did you?" asked Brian, and she managed not to jump as she realized he was right beside her. And then she nodded vigorously, smiling like a fool.

"It was…" she searched for a word. "Magnificent."

He nodded. "That begins to describe it."

"Yeah… nothing really does it justice," she said quietly, closing the book cover with care and setting it aside. "It's one of a kind."

"It is," agreed Brian, and she saw that he was in an old t-shirt and sweatpants. "Are you ready to sleep, or do you need something to drink or eat?"

She avoided his eyes, but couldn't for the life or her think why. If anything, she ought to thank him, and then hug him, and maybe say she needed a drink. But she shook her head, like the idiot she was, and said, "I'm good, I'll just sleep here."

Brian nodded once more, emphasizing his agreeing with her. "Alright then. Good night."

"Good night."

_Breathing._

He was such an idiot!

That's what it was! That's what it was always going to be! He had tried to stop his feelings for her, he had thought it worked, and then it hit him like ice water. And then he was drowning in his idea of not loving her, trying to make himself see sense, all the bad ideas of the relationship he wanted - needed - and then, just now, walking into his room, he knew that he still wasn't breathing. Because she hadn't looked him in the eyes, hadn't even thanked him, not that he wanted thanking… he'd subconsciously given her that book because it described his feelings for her perfectly.

They teased and loved each other like Wesley and Adela, and yet, only he felt the absolute truth of the first and last metaphors!

And he didn't even know it until he was alone in his room!

He wanted to scream and yell at himself, and he might have if he were alone, but Meredith was just in the other room.

Or so he thought.

"Brian?"

It was a half-question, half-calling, and he turned on the spot, his chest screaming at him in four different languages when he saw her grinning. "Yes?" he made himself ask.

"I can't breathe."

His heart stopped, and suddenly he couldn't breath in not only a metaphorical sense, but a literal one as well. Surely she didn't mean, as if she was drowning? That was ridiculous… but then, what could she possibly mean?

And suddenly, she was flying to him, her frizzed hair flying behind her, her movements graceful, and he met her three steps ahead of where he'd been standing, and their lips crashed together.

Bliss.

Paradise.

Heaven.

These were words that she used to describe kissing him later, but for that every moment, time stood still and they were the exceptions. Her heart was pounding the blood so quickly throughout her body that it felt as though she was on fire; she could feel that he was flushed, too. Her limbs felt like jelly, but clung to him with the permanence of stone. Her blood, already racing, was filled with electrons that sparked into her wherever their skin met. Her lips, his lips, her thighs, his hand, his back, her hands, wherever they touched.

And she could finally breathe.

There was no need to say it, they could both feel it. No need to say anything at all. Both of them were tasting air; both of them were breathing. Finally, after months of drowning, they could breath.


	2. Flaming (Bropez)

Lauren rolled over onto her side and tried to let her mind drift again. But, again, she had too much jumping around in it. Her thoughts were jumbled into a big ball, and occasionally an idea or memory or something would break away from the group and bounce around her mind. This was just how her head worked at night - or, however you looked at it, morning. Two A.M. really wasn't counted as 'morning' by the majority of people.

She turned over onto her other side. She wondered if the others had gone back to their rooms yet. She'd skipped going to the bar for a nice girl's night with Jaime, Julia, and Meredith. They'd painted their nails, done makeup, and then messed up that same makeup with a huge pillow fight that the maids were going to hate them for in the morning. And then they'd fallen asleep.

Well, the others had. She listened to all three sets of even, light breathing from the other girls. The sets clashed with each other; nobody was breathing in tandem. She wondered if the guys were drinking in tandem. She wondered if they were still drinking. It wouldn't be very smart of them to still be drinking. Her eyes locked on the digital clock on the hotel's nightstand. They'd better not still be drinking. Two in the morning, for Pete's sake!

She sighed as quietly as she could, and gave up. She'd never get to sleep like this. She tossed the covers off of her and sat up, dangling her feet in the frigid air before sliding off of the bed slowly, trying not to wake her roommates. She thought about what she'd do, now that she had finally caved into staying up.

Not go down to the bar - no, she'd end up drinking, and that would not be good for the show tomorrow. She couldn't watch television, she'd wake up the girls - she could maybe go down to the lobby and watch. But she just didn't feel like sitting down. She wanted to be active. She could maybe go into town, and go shopping or something - no, the car drive would have her itching to just run, and she didn't want to be seen running at two A.M. Someone would thin she was a murderer or something. Was the hotel's pool open at this time of night? She remembered Dylan asking when they arrived if it was a twenty-four hour pool. They'd said yes, right? She shook her head, trying to remember. She was certain they'd said it was.

She'd go for a swim. She was in the mood, anyway. She shuffled her way across the coarse, cold carpet, and when she reached the crack of light that appeared under the door, she turned to the right, opened the closet, grateful it didn't squeak or moan, and bent over, and felt around for her swim bag. They'd all packed one, because coming to Florida surely wasn't going to be just a visit for performing the show. Her hands found the thin fabric of her bag, and she ran her hand over her embroidered name, making sure it was hers. On deciding it was hers, she pulled it out of the closet, slung it over her shoulder, and straightened.

She twisted the doorknob quietly, pulled the door open as little as she could, not wanting to flood the room with the light from the hall, and slipped out, closing it with a soft clicking sound. The hallway was slightly warmer than the room had been, but it was still chilly. She tried to remember the way to the pool, and was a bit put-off to discover she'd forgotten it.

Oh, well. She'd remember later. She started walking, not caring where she'd end up.

Brian looked blankly at the television in the hotel's lobby, and thought about the show.

Who knew who'd sent them the script? One day in the mail, amongst the fan mail and letters, they'd received a large package. It was simply addressed to the 'Dikrats'. Inside had been a script for a play, the music all written and everything - and they'd gotten a CD that had the music, recorded, on it, so they could hear what it sounded like. The music was good, the plot was good, the whole thing was very well put-together, and inside the script had been a note asking them if they would perform it in Florida, if they chose to perform it at all. And they'd done it as soon as possible. Opening night had been yesterday, and the mysterious writer hadn't shown. They were all hoping s/he would.

But, in the meantime, they were enjoying Florida. Brian had had maybe two shots, and then stopped, knowing he shouldn't drink with a show tomorrow. They'd gone swimming, they'd gone shopping, they'd been to eat at a fancy restaurant and all that jazz. And they'd been sleeping a lot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He turned to the wall that separated the lobby and the pool, and peered through the windows - and then there was a small figure, jumping into the water he was certain was deathly cold.

He smiled, recognizing the head that surfaced and shook water from its hair. Lopez _would_ go swimming at two in the morning, he thought to himself, and he stood. He would talk to her - better than nobody at all, much better. The guys had all gone to sleep hours ago, most of them somewhat drunk, and he wanted some human contact.

He made his way towards the pool and closed the door silently behind him, not wanting her to notice him. The water certainly didn't look cold, not the way she was swimming in it. The sound of chlorinated H2O slapping against the tiled floor of the room echoed off the walls, creating a cave-like feeling, but for the windows that showed the dark night outside. She looked like she was swimming laps; luckily for him, she was swimming the other direction at the moment, and that would mean he had the perfect chance to scare her.

Without another thought, he took two large bounds and leapt into the water.

It was cold, he was right, but not as cold as he thought it'd be. It was no colder than a blanket that had been unused for three hours and he was sure it would warm up just as quickly. The liquid was refreshingly cool, actually, cleared his head a bit from the late-night fuzz that had made itself at home. He felt the bubbles created from his impact tickle his skin and blew out some of the air he was holding in, kicking his feet and feeling his face break the surface of the water and emerge into the chilled air.

And then there was a splash of water smacking him across the face. "Asshole!" Lauren chastised him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Brian couldn't help his grin, and even though his clothes made his actions slower, he splashed her back. "That was the idea," he said as she gave a little squeal, and splashed him once more.

He sputtered a bit, shaking the water from his hair and eyes, and she giggled at him. He swam over to the edge of the pool and wiped away some of the blur from his vision, and gave her a look of mock contempt, which made her laugh again.

She was starting to get laugh lines already. He loved that. It showed just how much she enjoyed life. Her eyes sparkled with the mirth she let spill from between her soft lips, and her skin was dotted with drops from the pool. Her hair was plastered to her head where it was above the water, but underneath, it billowed out like brown satin. She really was beautiful.

"What are you doing up?" he asked her.

"Couldn't sleep," she said simply, shrugging. "You?"

"Never tried to sleep," he said, mimicking her shrug. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Too many thoughts," she said. "Most of them were about whether you boys had stopped drinking."

"Oh, a long time ago," Brian said, making to wave it off but slapping the water instead. "I stopped after two shots, but Walker and Moses went a bit over-board."

She sighed and began to swim over to him, the water churning around her. She reached the edge and hung on with her fingertips, like he was. "Those two," she said, shaking her head. "How about Dylan?"

"Stopped after me, but before those two."

"Naturally," said Lauren.

"What's that to mean?" he demanded playfully. "That he's always the middle man?"

"Yes," she said bluntly, but with a smile. "Think about it. He always gets the pizza from the pizza man, and _then_ gives them to us."

Brian laughed. "So because he retrieves our pizzas makes him the middle man?"

"Absolutely," Lauren said with a nod.

"Don't you be calling my friend a middle man!" Brian ducked his head under the water, and propelled himself upward again, and began shaking his head like a dog, spraying her with water. She gave a cry of surprise and then laughed, ducking under herself and trying to spray him back. Her hair was longer than his, though, and she ended up slapping him. He burst out laughing at the smack of the heavy hair, and jumped at her, his hands on her shoulders, pushing her under for a moment and then releasing her, watching as she came up splaying water, and shaking her head to clear it off the liquid. He jumped back when her hair went flying again, but he managed to get hit again, and reeled back. He guffawed unattractively, and she was laughing that laugh that sounded like what he'd always thought velvet would sound like.

"It's on!" she exclaimed, shoving a wave of water at his face. War had been declared.

She made big circles with her feet under the water, enjoying the currents they created. Brian sat next to her, wringing out his shirt over the pool. Her swimsuit clung tightly to her skin. His hair had been mussed greatly, and there were a few sparkling droplets that glinted from within the mess of dark hair he had. There were a few droplets condensing on his forehead and nose. His bare chest matched the rest of his skin; glistening with the sheen of left-overs from their swim. He really was handsome.

"I won," Lauren said smugly, tearing herself from the mental images she'd unwillingly conjured.

"You did not," he said stubbornly, looking at her with his so very, very blue eyes. She'd thought that aqua eyes were impossible before she met him, but his eyes were light enough to match the pool and deep enough to match the sky at the same time.

"Did too," she argued.

"Did not," he argued right back.

"Did too!" she insisted, grinning despite herself.

"Did not!" he retorted, but he was smirking like she was.

"Prove it," she demanded playfully.

And he raised his arm and, still smirking profoundly, shifted so that he could hit her with his shirt. She squeaked in mock terror and tried to dodge the damp cloth, but it hit her right arm nonetheless. She opened her mouth to shoot him a snarky comment, but then she saw him frown and his eyes widened in momentary shock, and saw that the way he'd shifted and moved had left his hip too far over the edge - and he fell in sideways, the shirt going with it.

"Brian!" she exclaimed at the eruption of bubbles and his obscured figure beneath the slapping waves he'd created. "Brian‽" She swung her knees underneath her and looked with a racing heart as he struggled underneath the surface.

For one terrible moment, his figure became very, very still. Her blood not only went cold, but became as still and heavy as stone; her heart shrunk in on itself and froze, ice and terror gripping it.

And then he kicked forcefully once, and reached the air, coughing and gasping for air.

She let out a gust of air in relief and felt her blood start running again, and her heart began to beat an unsteady rhythm. "Don't scare me like that, I swear my heart stopped working," she said, extending her hand to assist him out.

His slippery grasp met her own, and he coughed something like, "Sorry," and she pulled on him, trying to help him up. But damn, was he heavy and slippery, but she couldn't lose her grip and let him slip under again -

And it was with very little realization that she hit the water, too.

She began kicking as soon as her brain started working and told her she couldn't breathe. Unfortunately, fat floats, and she had very little of that. And then there was a warm hand on the small of her back, pushing her up.

She felt the oxygen scratch her throat as she gulped it in as soon as she could. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" Brian apologized profusely. "Are you -" he coughed "- alright?"

"Yeah," she said, "I'm… I'm alright. Are you?" She had managed not to swallow anything, a miracle, considering she hit the water with her mouth open.

"Fine," he said, and coughed again. His hand was still on her back, and she could feel its warmth despite the water.

It was only when they were both on the floor again that she realized he was coughing still, and it sounded unhealthy and really thick. "How much water did you swallow?" she asked, concerned, picking up one of the towels she'd set out and dabbing her face with it.

"I don't…" he coughed once more, and she was beginning to panic a bit more now. "… know. A lot."

"Obviously," she said, "Do you think you can cough it all out?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright then," she said, handing him a towel, and when his body was wracked with another thick cough, she unfolded the towel herself and draped it over his bare shoulders. "Do you want me to get you a trashcan?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm… f-fine."

She hadn't realized just how cold the air was in comparison to the water they'd both become accustomed to, and realized that they were both shivering. She moved her hands to his chest and pushed him gently but firmly onto the floor right in front of the wall, so he had a back and a bottom to sit on. She looked for the big, huge towel that they used as a blanket in frigid situations as such, and realized she'd just given it to him.

"Move over in there," she ordered him, sitting down right next to him and snuggling into his side, reveling in how warm his body. Though it shook occasionally with his coughs, it was very comfortable, and she took the towel from his shoulders and put it on top of them like a big blanket, glad that it had been in the bottom of the bag and was warmer than they both felt to themselves.

She was so warm, and so small, and had both her arms around his torso, which had stopped moving a while ago when he ceased coughing. She had warmed his own skin, but she never seemed to get any colder; like a flame, she shared the heat but never lost her own. That was a good metaphor for Lauren: a flame. Bright, cheery, _could_ be destructive, sharing… warm. Warm in more ways than one.

"Lauren?"

"Hm?" she hummed to him, obviously as un-sleepy as he was, but just as cozy.

"I'm really comfortable with you."

"I'm comfortable with you, too," she replied, tilting her chin upward so that their gaze caught.

And her eyes sparkled reflecting the lights, but also on their own, like there were little flames dancing inside them… little flames inside a bigger flame…

He drew closer to her wondrous eyes without meaning to or acknowledging that he was. She was still smiling, her white teeth not contrasting too badly with her tanned skin, which looked like new copper in the lighting that was created by the darkness outside the windows and the lights that were on their half of the room.

She was beautiful.

No - she was beyond that. Beyond any beauty. She was the very flame of life… _his_ life.

How had he never realized that?

Their noses brushed against each other, and suddenly, there were fireworks dancing all over his skin in a wave starting at where they touched, and he could feel his pulse and hers in one, something very strange but oddly endearing. Her smile had begun to slip and her face had become the mirror for the realization he was experiencing.

"Brian?" she whispered, her voice low and slightly husky, her breath washing over his face, warm but sweet-smelling.

"Yes?" he whispered back.

"Kiss me."

He wasted not another second.

His lips melded to fit with hers perfectly the moment they touched, and if he thought he felt fireworks before, he was wrong. There was electricity flying through each vein in his body and every cranny in his brain. He was alive with energy as he hadn't ever been before. He was hyper-sensitive to every sound, every sight, every smell, and then he closed his eyes, and focused solely on her as she seemed to be focusing on him.

Her arms loosed from around his stomach and slid up to encircle his neck, and he found that they were both shifting subconsciously to fit each other better. She was raising herself onto her knees and he had his legs under his thighs and was sitting on his heels now, as opposed to just sitting against the wall beside each other. His right hand tickled the space behind her ear before his fingers entangled themselves in her still-wet hair. His left arm encircled her waist and brought it as close to him as it could. And she was responsive. Mercy, was she responsive. She was kissing him back as passionately as he was kissing her, like the feisty little thing she was. His tongue poked her lips and asked for access; she granted it immediately, and a tongue battle began, the sweet taste of bliss filling both of their systems. She tasted like strawberries, sweet and plump and fresh. She smelled like the chlorine from the pool, but she made it smell good. And she felt like a condensed ball of fire, playful and serious at the same time.

He could feel himself responding to her responses, and it was like he was lit on fire himself when her knees moved to each of his hips until she was straddling him.

She was the heaven he'd always dreamed of, with the same heat he'd always imagined hell had. If they'd been atop candles, they'd have been the flames. And they were merging into one. White-hot and as beautiful as an occupied fireplace they'd snuggle in front of sometime in the future, they _were_ flaming.


	3. One-Hundred-Percent Ecstatic (Crisspez)

Lauren could barely hear her own shrill scream above the squealing of her futile brakes as they tried to stop her car from spinning. But the black night outside that was speckled with fast white snow continued to whirl outside her window dizzyingly and she was pressed against the side with the force from the movement. Her small foot stomping on the brake pedal did nothing but make her tires screech against the ice beneath them. Her white knuckles clutched the steering wheel and held it straight, but it was of no use. Her heart had leapt to her throat and she felt like she was about to vomit it out, but for the sheen of memories that suddenly encased her.

They were brief flashes, brief and blurred. A sweaty, screaming woman who she recognized as her mother; the burns from the carpet as she learned to crawl; her first steps, potty training, her first words. The only thing that added to the terror of the memories she couldn't remember was the fact that she realized her life was flashing before her eyes - because it was about to end.

"So what's up with you guys?" Darren asked casually, sipping his sparkling apple juice. He still had to drive tonight - as did Dylan, which was why he had water - and he couldn't indulge in the alcohol that Brian, Joey, Walker, and A.J. were downing. "Any new tour ideas?"

"Nah," said Walker, shaking his head. "Just the basic 'let's sit around and let the fans beg' act."

"We don't let them beg," said A.J., rolling his eyes.

Both Joey and Brian laughed. "Please," Joey scoffed. "We don't _make_ them beg, but we _let_them beg. They're awesome, but beg-ey."

"What about you?" inquired Brian.

Darren shrugged. "Y'know," he said. "Same old, same old. A song or two, Glee, the works."

"Oooh, a song," said A.J., wagging his eyebrows up and down. "Tell me all about it."

Darren shrugged again. "Nothing special." He'd hoped this wouldn't come up. He glanced at his phone; Lauren hadn't texted back yet.

Brian and Dylan sang, "Ooo-OOOO-oooh," and Brian winked at Darren. "Who's it for?" he asked.

Darren fought back the heat that threatened to rise to his cheeks. "Nobody, it's just a random song."

"Well, what kind of song?" A.J. demanded. "A looooooooove song?"

"No," he insisted, but they all tittered around him.

_Just having her arms around his neck felt so natural. Just having his hands on her waist felt so right. But she could only hope that the confused and reluctant look on his face really was his amazing acting ability; because her eagerness and earnestness was blowing holes in her own facade. And then, her cue. And despite the lights, the other actors, the lines they'd had to say - despite the fact that she could easily see the camera about to record them and the sign that said 'Little White Lie' - she leaned in for their (unfortunately scripted) kiss._

_She'd never imagined kissing him would feel so good. His lips on hers were blissful and let her, for the first time, taste a restless sort of peace, a calmed but rippled ocean surface. The sparks that shot from his lips to hers and then up and down her body were dulled by the overwhelming sense of correctness that came with his lips touching hers. This amazing sensation she was feeling wasn't scripted, not at all, and it was all she could do not to tangle her fingers in his hair._

_She felt wonderful. But, despite her state of joy and satiated ecstasy, there was a part of her that didn't understand. Why Darren? He was like her older brother, her best friend. So why did kissing him, holding him feel so good?_

Lauren felt dizzier and more confused than ever; why had that memory, amongst all the other brief and blurry ones, stood out and been so clear? But she barely had a second to think before the next slide in the show was forced in front of her.

Darren glanced down at his phone. Still, she hadn't responded. Maybe she'd fallen asleep. But then A.J. repeated the question he'd just asked and Darren looked up. "What?" he asked.

"Do. You. Guys. Want. To. Play. Guess. The. Noun?" he said, enunciated each word carefully, as it to suggest he was an idiot; if it hadn't been A.J. and if he hadn't been smiling, he'd have been offended. There were nods of agreement around the table at the game they all loved, and Dylan began splitting them into teams.

_Lauren was as still as a statue, completely stone, even her face made of rock. She was concrete, immovable, immobile. Her eyes were locked on Jaime and Darren in the middle of the stage, dancing too close for her comfort, though she knew they were acting. And though she could hear the lines, she couldn't focus on them or have them register; she was waiting for the kiss._

_And then Jaime went in._

_The only sign on Lauren's neutral face to indicate any emotion was the slight darkening of her eyes and the dulling of any and all color in her face. Her fists, that she'd already clenched, nearly poked through her costume robes. She remembered kissing the lips that were kissing Jaime's. She wondered if he thought her the better kisser, or herself. Or if he could only think about her. She wondered bitterly if Jaime felt as wonderful in his arms as she had._

_And then they pulled apart, an Darren stated his next lines perfectly; if it had been more than a stage kiss, he probably would have kissed longer and forgotten his lines right afterward. Like he had with Little White Lie. Though they'd cut out his line after all, deciding just the kiss was good enough, the idea that her kiss was superior to both Elona and Jaime's felt good. She felt better and she smiled as the scene continued; and then her face was wooden again as Devin laid her head on his shoulder. She was being irrational, and she knew it - but why Darren? Why was it that he made her so jealous?_

Lauren's own shrieks pierced the air around her, but they couldn't hold a candle to the sharpness of these memories. Why were the ones with Darren so vivid? They couldn't be that important. And then the next flash interrupted her once more.

"A person," said Dylan.

"Joey," guessed A.J.

"A.J.," guessed Joey.

"An actress," Dylan specified.

"Meryl Streep," guessed Darren.

"Angelina Jolie," guessed Brian.

"A beautiful actress," Dylan specified once more, smirking with his imminent victory.

Darren, trying desperately to guess what Dylan was thinking of, could only blurt out "LAUREN!" at the mention of a beautiful actress, and then shy away as all the eyes turned to him.

_"So, what was it like, kissing Joey?" asked the timid fan, who was holding out her piece of paper for Jaime's autograph._

_Jaime smiled at the fan. "He's a good enough kisser, but it was just a stage-kiss. No passion."_

_"What about Darren?" Meredith asked kiddingly from right next to Jaime, causing Lauren to look up._

_"The same, just a stage-kiss," Jaime answered, smiling at the fan as she finished writing her name._

_"But, come on," Meredith argued, "He's so hot."_

_"Hey!" Lauren said, smiling and joking, "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"_

That memory was simply painful. The kidding about Jaime kissing Darren - while it had been reassuring to know it had been nothing but a stagekiss - had made her retaliate; she was lucky she'd managed to make herself kid about it, as she had for years at that point, instead of snap at them to stop. But then she was pushed further into hazy SpaceTour memories and couldn't think back.

But, wait - something weird was going on. Everything was just flickering by much to quickly now; she couldn't make out individual dialogue anymore, it was all just a jumbled mess as the slideshow sped up.

And then there was an image of her crying on her bed, holding the phone to her ear as Darren told her he missed her as much as she missed him. She was clutching the stuffed rabbit he'd given her so long ago, clutching it like a lifeline, and the LWL kiss kept replaying on her computer that was on her bed, to the side. "No, you don't," she told him, smiling a watery smile through the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

She jolted to a stop.

She shut her eyes immediately, not wanting to see the damage she was sure was coming. She didn't want to see her death come, she didn't want to see the big dark cloak that was coming to snatch her up. But, to her immense surprise and relief, nothing came. No pain, no death. Just her, sitting in her still car, in the middle of the street. She opened her eyes and saw to the left, just a couple inches away, the large patch of ice she'd spun out on. And, on the mostly-salted roads, her brakes had finally worked once she'd actually spun off of the ice.

She took a deep, shaky breath. She wasn't dead.

But she did know what she had to do.

Without another word, she drove her way around the ice, not wanting another near-death experience - and began the drive to Darren's apartment.

Darren grinned at Joey as he made his usual pointless flirting with the Katie, the hotel manager in the lobby, and pressed the button that would take him up to their apartment. The doors slid closed on the image of his slightly-drunk friend being shut down once more by the pretty girl and he felt his stomach drop to his feet as the elevator started.

He leaned against the walls of the elevator, closing his eyes for a wonderful couple seconds, just resting. But the ding of the elevator was bound to come at some point, and not a moment after he'd begun to doze off did it tear him from his peace and show him the hallway.

He sighed, rather tired, and stepped out of the elevator, and turned to the right, intending to make his way to their apartment and crash on the couch - but he saw something - no, someone - who woke him right up.

"Lauren?" he asked, not at all sure if he was seeing things or if she was really there.

"Darren."

His name was whispered and he had the time to blink twice as she sprinted toward him and then threw herself at him - literally. Her arms were flung around his neck and she rested her chin on his shoulder, hugging him as tightly as possible, and hoping he understood the unspoken words.

Hugging her like this… no, her hugging him like this, it was like he'd dreamed. Sure they'd hugged, and teased, and joked, but actually embracing her like she was the lifeline he needed to stop drowning - this was what he'd hoped for. And he hugged her right back, squeezed her as hard as he could to him, pulling her so close he was almost afraid he was hurting her; but the embrace was warm and tender, though passionate, and her small frame was lifted off the ground. There was so much more in this hug than there ever had been before; it was more intimate than any kiss.

"I wrote you a song," he whispered softly into her ear, and he swung her legs around so he was carrying her bridal-style towards his apartment, just so he could show her what he was very proud of - the music and lyrics he'd written with her in mind.

"A song?" she asked softly, resting her head on his shoulder adorably.

"A song," he assured and repeated her. He fumbled with his keys at the door, but when it was open, he rushed to the piano, glad he'd left it set up before they'd gone out. He set her on her feet and petted her hair once, unable to resist doing so. "Listen," he instructed with a goofy smile on his face. "It's about when we met."

He stepped behind the piano and sat down on the stool, and then positioned his fingers, took a deep breath, and began.

"_Hey, / Hey, you. / Can you see me, / across the room? / Caught your eye, / don't be shy, / I don't know why / but I feel like I can fly!_"

She clapped her hands excitedly, smiling broadly.

"_Maybe it's your brown eyes / that are staring down mine. / Why can I not think straight? / Maybe it's your hair / or the fact that you don't care / if you get home late._"

She jumped up and down excitedly, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes fixed on Darren's beautiful face.

"_So baby walk - this - WAY! / We can talk all night: / What do you start, / what do you stop, / what do you like? / So walk towards me baby, / I need to see / if your name is as nice as your face. / So walk this way!_"

Lauren couldn't take it anymore. This was the most passionate she'd ever seen this man, and she'd known him, a very passionate person, for over three years. His eyes were sparkling and his lips were smiling and every ounce of energy he was putting into the notes seemed jubilant and perfect. The song was already describing how they met flawlessly - she didn't need to hear any more. She grabbed both sides of his face from over the piano and brought his lips to hers.

He immediately abandoned the keyboard and grabbed her head, too, holding her gently, tenderly, caressing her hair and cheeks as he kissed her. This time, they weren't acting. This time, he didn't have to force himself to seem reluctant. This time, it was all true, real and one-hundred-percent ecstatic.


	4. Always and Forever (LaurWalk)

Lauren sat, completely rigid, in her uncomfortable plastic chair. She didn't move a muscle, and one had to look closely to see if she blinked or even breathed. She seemed a very life-like statue. She wasn't smiling, as she normally was, and the laugh-lines she'd been acquiring seemed to fade by the second. She just stared unwaveringly at the floor, which was as stark-white as the rest of the room was. The tiled, cold, unfeeling floor under her, the thick, smooth white walls around her. Even the chair she sat on was white. There were exceptions, of course; the door was wooden, and therefore a warm brown that contrasted awkwardly with the rest of the room; and then there were the people in it. Everyone was either frozen in various poses of stress, or twitching and shaking nervously. Julia was crying softly into Jaime's shoulder, and the owner of that shoulder looked ready to cry herself. Meredith was clutching Brian's arm as if it was a lifeline, and she was one of the ones completely still; her lifeline quivered anxiously. Dylan was sitting back in a relaxed pose in his chair, but the unnatural stillness made it anything but natural. Darren was patting Joey's back robotically, his eyes downcast like Lauren's, and Joey was blinking rapidly. Devin was desperately trying not to hyperventilate in her chair; the only one missing from the group of them was Walker.

"Mr. Criss?"

An older doctor stuck his head through the door and his eyes found Darren, who stood. "How is he?" he said immediately, and every pair of eyes was now trained on the man in the white lab coat.

"He's asleep and heavily sedated, and I'm afraid he won't be waking up anytime soon," the doctor responded. "But his injuries aren't life-threatening."

There were audible sighs of relief, and some people cried tears of relief. Darren sagged against the wall. "How bad is it?" he inquired after a moment, and the room fell silent again. Lauren stared at the questioned accusingly, as if it was entirely his fault that one of her best friends had been almost killed by some dumb-ass drunk driver, who had walked away unharmed, the shit.

"He's fractures four ribs, all on his left side, and his left arm and leg are broken, the arm in three places and the leg in five. His neck was sprained when his head was thrown forward by the collision and then back forcefully by the airbag. He has multiple lacerations and has withstood severe blood loss, but he should recover."

Lauren averted her eyes, which were growing far too warm and watery for her liking.

"Can… c-can we s-see him?" Julia stuttered, trying to wipe the on-flowing tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, Miss, you can see him, but I'm afraid visiting hours are over in thirty minutes."

_Thirty minutes?_ Lauren jerked her head up. "Can't we stay longer?" she pleaded.

"Well…" the doctor hesitated. "One visitor is permitted to stay the night, but we usually reserve that for family -"

"We are his family," said Dylan, his voice dryer and harsher than Lauren remembered it ever having been.

The doctor pursed his lips, but nodded. "Very well. If you'll follow me."

Lauren could barely pay attention to anything anyone was doing anymore, because it had nothing to do with Walker and that was where her thoughts were currently residing. She hated her imagination at the moment, because it conjured images of him lying, broken, on a hospital bed, the heart monitor beeping steadily, the casts glinting in the florescent, bright lights, his face achingly innocent behind the bruises and cuts. She shook her head violently, trying to rid herself of the picture, but all it got her in return was Walker, being crushed by the side of his car that had landed on the ground, shouting in shock and pain before letting the agony swallow him and push him into burning darkness…

The gulped back the lump in her throat as quietly as she could, but felt Devin's hand pat her, shakingly and gently, on the back despite her efforts. That only made her feel worse, and she took a deep breath to calm herself, making her feet stop walking when she realized the other feet already had. She couldn't make herself look up, couldn't make herself look through the glass to see him bandaged, taped up, "fixed".

She heard the doctor mutter something, and there was the creaking of the door opening; and it was no longer a matter of _How can I make myself look at him?_ but a matter of needing to see him, alive, at least.

Her gaze raised itself from the floor and went into the room, up the railed cot, and then to Walker.

She couldn't help it. She made a sound similar to that of a gasp and a dying cat mixed together. She clamped her hands over her mouth and bit her palms forcefully to make herself stop the reaction she was having, but it only increased the liquid that blurred her vision. She was hardly spared a glance as her friends filed into the room and muttered unheard greetings.

Walker was lying on the bed, just as she thought he would be. His casts did glint in the florescent, cruel lighting, and she could see the childish innocence in his face behind the swelling and still-open wounds. And the heart monitor did beep steadily, creating a rhythm her tears fell with. She felt like ripping out her heart, if it hadn't already been torn from her chest. She even felt the gaping hole where it should be, and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hold herself together, knowing she wouldn't be able to. The peace on his face, the peace that always was present there when he entered his dream land, was so twisted by the gore that his body had become it seemed vile, and yet, so sweet.

Her heart had, indeed, been ripped out of her chest. And as she watched him not stir a bit, more still than any of them had been in the waiting room, she felt like it was being wrung out until every last drop of happiness hit the floor and puddled at her feet.

"Lauren," said Darren in a whisper, his arms encircling her. It was then that she became aware of the facts that she was shaking like a chihuahua and crying like an infant. She turned her face away from the sea of eyes that seemed to be glaring at her - even though she knew they weren't - and let him stroke her hair as she soiled his shirt. "Shh," he whispered soothingly. "He'll get better."

Lauren couldn't even choke out her reply. She couldn't even nod. Her breath seemed to evade her the second before each new sob broke free of her throat. "Shh," Darren tried again, petting her like the big brother he was. "It's okay, it's alright, shh…"

She wanted to tell him that no, it wasn't okay, and his attempts to comfort her felt like her empty heart had been shoved back into her chest unwillingly. But he was honestly trying to help, to make her feel better, and her appreciation for that far outweighed her own greedy sufferings. But nothing could outweigh the terrible thoughts her damned imagination continued to taunt her with. _What if he never wakes up? What if that heart monitor goes blank? What if he just can't recover?_

"I'm guessing she'll be the one staying tonight," said the doctor, completely oblivious to the immense pain that was crushing her like it had Walker.

"Lauren?" Darren said softly. "Would you like to stay with him tonight?"

She didn't know how she'd manage to stay with him that long without dying from the pressure that was pushing down on her drained heart, but she knew it would be harder to leave, thinking she might not be there to say goodbye, if it was necessary. She tried to say "Yes", she really did, but all she could do was nod and bring her pathetic weeping into a more hyperventilation-tone instead of a waterfall one.

She felt more friendly hands on her back and shoulders, trying to calm her, soothe her, and she attempted to let it help, but she couldn't help but feel guilty for stealing the attention from the man who might have been dying. She took as many deep breaths as she could, but exhaling each one made her voice break, even though she wasn't using it, and the excessive air was beginning to make her dizzy, and she felt like she was spinning. "It's okay," Darren kept repeating, "We're here, he's going to be fine, shh, shh, it's alright, shh…"

She had to get herself under control, for Joe if for nobody else. The next time her breath hitched itself in her throat before she let loose a sob, she kept it there by tightening her throat around the lump that had formed in it; and although she couldn't help the tears, she pulled away from Darren slowly, knowing he was just as unsure about her state of mind as she was.

But she made her way over to the chair that was positioned by his bed, despising the way her footsteps fell into beat with the _beep, beep, beep_ of the heart monitor. She sat there, her head in her hands, completely still, until she had heard the last of the murmured sentiments to the person who couldn't hear them and had felt the last encouraging pat on her head. It was only when she heard the group of footsteps fade completely into the heartless hallway that she lowered her quivering hands and looked at his face.

"Please wake up," she said, speaking around the lump in her throat so her voice was high and broken, and raised her shaking hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She'd read books, seen movies, where the touch of true love could awaken a person from things such as a coma, and a drugged sleep couldn't be much different.

But, no, there was no magic that made him blink and see her there, waiting for a reaction, no reaction that even acknowledged that she'd touched him. She didn't know what she'd been hoping for, but the thing she'd told herself was impossible was suddenly hurtling reality at her like daggers. He didn't respond to her. Her heart had been beaten like a rug until all the happiness flew out of it and gathered on the floor below her. Maybe she just didn't - couldn't - love him enough - maybe the happy part of love was what you needed to wake someone up, and she certainly wasn't in possession of that anymore. It was pain, pain, pain. That was all it was. Grief, agony, despair, longing, _pain_. That was what her love had been reduced to. What _she_ had been reduced to. Shrunk down until she was as worthless but hurtful as the mental images she'd had earlier, being worn away at until she was sure her wracking sobs should have woken him up, if her "love" couldn't.

"Please," she begged him, squeezing his hand as tightly as she dare, not wanting to shatter him when he already looked so fragile, so porcelain-pale. "P-Please, j-just wake up! J-Joe, p-_please_!"

But he didn't, and she knew he wouldn't, and the fact that nothing she did, had or was could ever barely effect the thing she cared most about in the world just made her tears fall faster. She heard each individual tear hit the floor with a soft _plop_, and the _plop_s were in perfect time with the _beep_s of the monitor. Each breath seemed measured, in synch with everything else in the room, and she felt claustrophobic, like she was being squished by the resonating sounds that were just endless waves of emptiness. The room might as well have been empty.

She was completely, totally, and irrevocably alone.

"Happy birthday!" cheered the chorus of her friends in unison, as they finished the birthday song. They were all seated around her apartment living room, all squished together like the group of friends they were, and every person had a slice of store-bought cake on a flimsy paper plate, and they were eating their slices with plastic forks. They all smiled at her benignly, and she smiled back, but felt a bit like tearing up, knowing that the person who'd have rustled her hair and given her a bear hug (no matter how much she shouted meaninglessly against it) wasn't there. Still, she put on the brave face she'd mastered over the months, and bit into her own cake as her friends bit into theirs. She leaned against the wall next to the door, away from and to the right of the rest of the group slightly, because personal space was something she demanded after everyone had given her hugs, not wanting anyone to take over Walker's customs. The buzz of chatter was a nice background to the sound of her chewing the cake.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

She looked at the door curiously, wondering who on earth it could be. The pizza had come over an hour ago, and nobody else would come to celebrate her birthday but maybe her family. _Was_ it her family?

"Who is it?" Jaime called to the door.

"Birthday present for Lauren Lopez," said a deep voice from the other side.

A birthday present? She eyed the stack of gifts on her kitchen table, the whole reason they were eating in the living room. She stood quickly, though, and swung the door open, thinking she'd see a delivery man with a gift from a fan or the likes. But as she swung it open, she saw no one until she looked down and saw the piece of paper of the floor with the arrow pointing down the hall, towards the elevator, and the one after that, and the one on the wall pointing right to the down elevator button. "What is this?" she asked her friends, turning back to them.

They grinned cheekily and shrugged, and she was immediately suspicious. "Seriously, guys," she said, "What is it?"

Jaime shrugged again, her smile growing wider. "I don't know. Why don't you follow it and find out?"

Lauren narrowed her eyes. "You do too know."

Dylan shook his head, but he was smirking, too. "Not a clue," he said. "But why don't you tell us what it is when you come back?"

She took a deep breath, merely for the purpose of dissolving the irritation that was slowly building in her. "Fine," she said. "I'll be back."

She could still hear the giggles of her buddies when she'd closed the door, but she bent down anyway and picked up the arrow/paper, not wanting to have to do it carrying something back. She followed the trail, and when she stepped into the elevator, there was a tiny arrow on a tiny slip pointing to 'Level 1'. She pressed it, and when the elevator gave a ding and the doors slide open, she stepped out into the lobby, looking at the floor for more arrows.

Her eyes stopped on a pair of grayed, worn tennis shoes.

And traveled upward, over the jeans, and the Michigan t-shirt, and black jacket.

And stopped on his face.

"_Joe_!"

And she had rockets in her shoes, propelling her forward, just gaining speed as she went, and she felt the hole in her chest she'd cried over night after night heal with each step she took and he took toward her. He was smiling like the sun, and like the sun, she felt the warmth flood her face and flush her skin. She had her gaze locked entirely on his beautiful blue eyes, his disheveled dirty-blond hair, his not-quite-bronze skin, his lovely lips, and the tears of reunion that she knew were burning his eyes.

And then his arms were around her and hers around him and her feet were off the ground and he spun her around, laughing and crying at the same time, the sound so glorious, so wonderful, so _healing_ to her that she couldn't help but laugh with him. He was so warm, so strong, so perfect, so happy, so amazing - she couldn't think of a single word, phrase, paragraph, essay, or language that did him any justice. "Joe!" she exclaimed again.

"Lauren!" he exclaimed right back, and in his voice she heard the exact same emotions as were spinning through her head like she was spinning through the air. He set her down, but her mind kept whirling, and she swore she could feel the world turn under her; but Joe remained solid in front of her; not a dream, not a fantasy, he was real. He crushed her tightly to his chest and she held him as close as she could, too. But she could tell he was still tender, still sore, and so she tried to to hug his left side with too much force. The last thing she wanted and the thing she couldn't stand was for him to break like he had last time. "God, I've missed you," he said, resting his lips in her hair comfortably. And then he kissed the top of her hair, and it made her tingle down to her toes.

"How long have you been out?" she demanded, but didn't even begin to pull away from the embrace; she'd been waiting so, _so_ long to be able to do it again.

"Just got out this morning," he murmured, his voice like an angel's.

"And they were in on it?" No need to ask who she was talking about.

He chuckled into her hair, and she tingled again at how his breath washed over her scalp. "Yes," he said. Okay, it wasn't _like_ an angels' voice, he _had_ an angel's voice - he was an angel.

"And - and you came to see me?"

"Of course," he whispered, and that sentiment made her almost buckle over from the sheer force of the emotion he'd put into his words. No, he didn't have an angels voice. angels shut the hell up and let him speak, because he was better than an angel, better than the universe, better than any deity ever worshiped. "I'd been away from you for so many months. Every time you came to visit me, they had me knocked out cold with their drugs, or I was in such pain I couldn't even communicate - hearing your voice beg for me, feeling your tears cry over me… it hurt more than the injuries."

"You have no idea how much I worried about you," she said, and despite her efforts at self-control, her eyes began watering again, like they had so often of late; but with joy, not grief.

"You have no idea how much _I_ worried about _you_," he said, and there was a hot droplet that landed on her scalp and slid down to become tangled in her hair. A tear. He was crying for her. "Every time you were there, you just cried and cried, and I was so scared I was going to end up breaking you just by being beat up. And then when you weren't there, it was… so much _worse_. Because I didn't know what you were doing, or if you were okay, and it was like every time you were away I just wanted you close, so I could tell you I was fine and you should be fine, too, and…" several more drops of saltwater landed on her head and she buried her face in his shirt.

"Don't leave me again," she whispered, and even though her voice was muffled by his clothes, she knew he heard, because his response was to choke out:

"I promise I'll stay by you, with you, whatever you want, whatever you need, for as long as I can - for as long as you need me."

"I'll never _not_ need you," she said, and she finally looked up, and let the tears held back by the fabric spill over, and smiled a watery and sincere smile. He looked down at her. "It was hell, going through each day without you, because all I wanted was to hold your hand and make you feel better but it hurt so much to look at you when you were so hurt. I'll always need you, Joe, _always_, never doubt that."

"And I'll always love you," he said, slowly, but surely, and his eyes searching her face for her response, to see if she was going to be happy or upset or anything else. "_Always_, and you are _not_ allowed to doubt it - _ever_, because that's how long I'll be here. Always and for ever."

"Always and Forever," she repeated, and she stretched up on her toes as he leaned down further to touch their lips together.


	5. Night Sky (Jauren Richpez)

**Night Sky - Jauren/Laurey Richpez (Joey Richter/Lauren Lopez) One-Shot**

The sky was black. Black, but not lifeless; it was dotted wondrously with little specks of light, shining like diamonds, that were called stars. Joey's eyes searched for constellations he knew of, and saw the big dipper almost right away; but it wasn't as cool as he thought it would be, so he looked for another, his dark eyes reflecting the sky above him so they sparkled more than usual. The air was crisp, a bit cold, cleaned out thoroughly by the rain that had made the grass he was lying on wet. Not only was it still harboring fugitive raindrops, but it was lengthy and soft, and tickled the edges of his face in the areas his hair didn't happen to cover. He loved petrichor, it was so very cleansing of the mind, so relaxing when one just stopped all actions and just thought.

"Joey?"

He didn't sit up, and he didn't need to know who was the owner of the small footsteps that made the small indentations in the grass. "Lauren," he greeted. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same." She stopped when she was right next to him, towering over him, a blanket draped around her shoulders, and she was wearing a sleeveless, knee-length nightgown. It wasn't often one got to see Lopez in a nightgown. Her own warm whiskey eyes looked into his chocolate ones.

"Enjoying the petrichor."

"Enjoying the what?"

"The smell of fresh rain in the spring."

"Ah." She nodded, and sank to her knees so she was right beside him. "Mesonoxian?"

"What?"

She grinned cheekily. "Pertaining to midnight," she explained. "Which it is."

"So," he said, "We've just clarified that I'm enjoying petrichor mesonoxian?"

"That's right," she said. "Now, tell me, why are we using big words?"

"Not necessary big," he argued, just for the sake of arguing, his slanted smirk setting itself on his lips. "Just rather unused."

"Alright. Why are we using unused words, then?"

"Because it's fun."

"That has verisimilitude."

"That has what?"

"The appearance of being true," she said. "I'm winning."

"You're not winning, that was zemblanity."

She struggled with it for a moment before sighing in defeat. "What does that one mean?"

"An unhappy accident."

She gave a small, soprano chuckle. Whenever Darren talked to inanimate objects, Joey would conjure what their voice would sound like; her laugh was the laugh of satin. Smooth, beautiful, valuable. Her entire being might as well be satin. "Let's see here…" she shifted onto her left leg and sank into the grass so she was sitting on her hip. "Let's hope I'm not fremdschämen!"

"I'm… was that even English?"

"Nope," she said brightly.

"It doesn't count, then," he said stubbornly, smiling as she smacked his shoulder.

"Fine," she said, "But don't quagswag your head 'no' at me."

Joey had to admit he was stumped. "Definition?"

"Shake to and fro," she said. "Beat that."

"I'll just exacerbate the contest if I do," he responded.

"Is… does… what?"

He laughed at her trying to figure out his word. "Worsen," he told her smugly. "Care to continue? It's useless, you know."

"It's not useless until the contest has faded to ennui," she announced.

"Ah-ha!" Joey pointed a finer at her. "I know that one! Boredom!"

"Damn it," she muttered, but she was still smiling. "I'll have to try harder… um, this contest is agathokakological," she said.

"What the hell does that mean, is it even a word?"

"It's a word," she promised. "It means 'composed of both good and evil'."

"Well how is this competiton aga- ega- agatholokogical?" he attempted to say it.

She laughed at his pitiful efforts. "_Agathokakological_. We're using terrible words with good meanings and good words with terrible meanings, so -"

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "A word is a 'good' word if it has a good meaning, and terrible if it has a terrible meaning."

"Not necessarily," she countered stubbornly, her ears going a bit red like they did when she was challenged. "Pulchritudinous means 'in possession of great physical beauty' and it sounds like you just called someone a fat pig."

Joey didn't want to see her point, he wanted to win. "I hereby submit to floccinaucinihilipilificatio n."

"Tell me what that one means," she said, her voice going soft all of a sudden, like she'd just remembered she had to whisper.

"The act of declaring something worthless." He wondered why she was so quiet suddenly, and then realized he was whispering, too. "Like this contest, for example."

"If it's so worthless, why are you trying to win?" she demanded, her voice still soft, and gaining an almost silk-like quality, as opposed to the satin she was normally. He was still curious as to why she had changed her speech so drastically, and opened his mouth to insist he was only trying to win out of 'ennui', when she opened her mouth and yawned widely, exposing her white teeth and stretching her pink lips into a perfect capitol O.

She was tired. He immediately felt guilty, even when she shook off the yawn. She'd been holding back a yawn, that was what had made her voice so dim. He was keeping her up late. "You're tired," he said.

"A bit," she replied, her voice back to normal. She glanced up to the sky he'd been searching a few minutes beforehand. "Find any good constellations?"

"How'd you know that's what I was looking for?"

"It's what you do, Joey. You look for patterns that aren't routine, you look for consistency that's random." She pointed a slender finger upward. "You wouldn't look for just one bright star, you'd look for a group, or a cluster - a constellation. You'd look for something that was always up there, which made it a consistent pattern, but they're _stars_. They're bright, and wonderful, and people wish on them everyday - who knows what random wishes a constellation might hold?" she withdrew her fingers slowly, her eyes eyes stayed locked on the gold pins that adorned the black velvet above them. "A five-year-old's wish for a pony, a teenager's wish for a boyfriend, an adult's wish for a job. It's all completely random, but always there. It's what you'd look for."

She finally let her gaze be affected by gravity and drift downward, right so that it locked on to his eyes. She smiled benignly. "Find any good constellations?"

He was staring at her in awe and shock. The fact that she could pin-point what he did and was in such a poetic fashion… she was magical. And it was clear she knew him better than he did. He'd never have guessed that huge idiosyncrasy about himself. "Just the big dipper," he said, trying to play it off casually. "Find any good stars when you were looking up there."

"A few," she said. "Why?"

"Well… Lauren, that's what _you_ do." When she looked confused, he continued. "You look for individuals. You look for something you might never find again and you've probably never found before. A single star, shining brighter than the rest of them one night, you'll appreciate; you'd probably appreciate the dimmest and smallest star, too. But you never try to look for it again, not once the sun comes up. When something takes what you're so very focused on away, you just move on easily and find a new star to look for. You're forever being appreciate of certain things and living in the present. It's what you'd look for."

She was staring at him like his words were physically wounding her, and he hadn't noticed. Hurrying to get the pained look from her face, he said, "But, I mean, it's not like you're unappreciative of other things, or… erm, it's… Lo?"

Lauren had stood, the few sticky blades of grass clinging to her bare legs, the almost-dew having seeped through her nightgown. She had her face crumpled up a bit, the little wrinkles between her eyebrows and on the sides of her nose appearing, like she did when she was about to cry. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Did I say something? Lo!"

She had taken off across the small meadow that anyone could have seen from anywhere above the first story of the hotel they were staying at; it was close to the hotel, but far enough to have no sighting of the brick walls through the thick level of trees. It would be easy to navigate your way back, though, very easy, it was a stick-straight path. He had leapt to his feet as quickly as he could and bounded after her, catching the crook of her elbow as she reached the clearing's edge. "Lauren, what'd I do?"

She didn't reply, but she instead jerked her arm forcefully, trying to tear her from Joey's grasp. His only reaction was to grasp her tighter. "Did I say something?" he asked, almost begged, her.

"You said everything!" she nearly shouted, whirling around and glaring at him like he committed some heinous crime. "You pegged me better than I could have pegged myself!"

"You did it to me, too, Lo!" he said, trying to understand why she was so angry.

"Yes, but - oh, you don't get it!"

"No, I don't!"

"I don't know myself!" she hurled at him. "Not like you do, nobody knows me like you do! You're got me pinned down perfectly! That's what I do, I love as much as can as long as I can, I look for things I don't know and probably have never experienced - it's a continuous cruel cycle, Joey, I'm not allowed to get attached, there's always something new to love because the last thing's being taken from me!" She didn't even pause for a breath at the end of her long sentence, and Joey could feel his own heart breaking every time her voice did. "I'd gotten attached to our little family being together after AVPM, and then what happens? Glee steals Darren and we hardly see him!" She jerked her arm again, but there was no force in it. "And we move forward and are with him as much as we can but it's not the same and then Bonnie up and leaves and Devin's a fuckin' movie star - and I have to just keep smiling because it'll hurt me too much if I don't live in the present! You think I'm like this by _choice_! You think I continually don't look back _by choice_! My family, my friends - we're all deteriorating, falling apart, slowly, very slowly, piece by piece, and when it's done it'll just be me, alone, on my own, and I still won't be allowed to look back. Because it'll crush me. In the long run, loving is going to crush me." And the first of many tears spilled down over her cheek. "And that's the problem with you, Joey. I don't think I can just move onward after you. I don't think I can just forgive and let live. I'm going to dwell on memories about you, I'm going to live inside my head, inside my past, because you, Joey - I can't possibly get over youm, I'm not allowed to love you, Joey, but I do and that's the thing that hurts most of all."

Joey didn't know how to process her words. Her voice and eyes were both thick with tears, her cheeks soaked in saltwater. She was shaking and gasping and her eyes darted all over his face, to see what he'd do, what he'd say, when he didn't have a damn clue.

But he took the loud silence to his advantage and thought. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain, the last thing he could ever bring upon himself to commit was hurting her; and yet here she was, hurting herself with her feelings for him that were his fault because if he didn't exist she wouldn't hurt like this, but, then again, if he didn't exist she'd be lonelier in the long run because she wouldn't have him. No matter what he did, it was going to hurt her. It was a scary thought; it definitely terrified him that no matter what he did, he'd hurt her. She'd always seemed such a strong, independent person, but the bulwark had been destroyed and behind it was a fragile porcelain doll, so breakable, so delicate.

But… but what if he never left her? What if she was allowed to be attached? What if she never had to move past him, because he'd be there forever? It would make her happy, and her happy made him happy. _Her happy made him happy_… dear god.

"You," he murmured gently into the almost nonexistent night breeze as it lifted a few of their hairs and swirled them softly in the air.

"M-Me?"

"Yes, you," he whispered to her. "You knew my character, know my personality, better than I do myself, like I do yours. You're random, definitely random, be it you're walking around in a nightgown at midnight or you're sitting in a cocktail dress at eight, you're wonderfully, beautifully random. But you're always there, you're consistent. You are and always will be a part of my life, Lauren, you're the in-routine normalcy I search for."

It was true and no sooner had he spoken the words than he felt an immense weight fall from his shoulders. She was looking at him with an odd mixture of pride, fear, and… love? Love! Her eyes had become a gentle pool of aged whiskey, looking more like lakes of liquid gold than the light brown everyone else saw them as. Her skin looked a bit copper in the moonlight, and her long, unruly waves of hair cascaded down her shoulders silkily. She was stunning. Stunningly gorgeous.

There was no dialogue that could have explained how they both felt at that moment. No words could have defined it - it was ineffable. The air was so thick with unspoken and nonexistent sweet nothings you could have tied a ribbon around it and given it to your lover. Joey and Lauren both were nameless, location-less, thoughtless, and both of them could only move in closer to the other for the kiss they'd both been subconsciously yearning for.

His hand let go of her elbow completely and found the small of her back, pressing her up against him so she curved back a bit while he bent down to reach her lips. Her fingers slid into his hair and tangled themselves in an almost permanent fixture; she brought his head as close as she could. His arm curled around her torso tightly. and their lips danced a dance that need no choreography to be perfect, needed no steps to be beautiful. They were random in their techniques, but their lips constantly made contact with each other - it was Joey's perfect kiss. And with each new kiss the last one left a pleasurable trace, so one could move forward happily and still look back without longing - it was Lauren's perfect kiss.

And in that moment, the moment where they had to be nothing but themselves with the only person who really knew who they were, they found themselves, they found each other, they found everything they could ever hope to find in the whole world - or the night sky that twinkled down at them approvingly, its brilliant ornaments dangling far above their heads.


	6. No Such Thing as Heart-to-Heart (Joime)

**No Such Thing as a Heart-to-Heart - Joime (Joey Richter/Jaime Lyn Beatty) One-Shot**

The chatter of the Starkids filled the late-night street with a comfortable ring, a nearly unnoticeable buzz in the evening air. Having their friends visit with him, Darren and Dylan for a week was one of the best ideas ever hatched, Joey decided, looking fondly over the group of immature misfits that he loved entirely too much. Julia, Lauren, Denise and Meredith had all joined hands and were jumping around to different rhythms in one big, deformed circle. Brian was attempting to get into the middle of the circle and was pretending to be Loki, declaring, "You will always kneel!" Nick and Dylan were chattering up a casual storm about ideas and inspiration and Matt and Darren were rehearsing their new not-so-secret handshake for the millionth time, smiling broadly. Jaime, however, was walking beside him, bags under her eyes, a wistful half-smile laying crooked on her face, and her footsteps somewhat slower than the other's. Joey was worried about her; she didn't seem alright. Was she just not sleeping well? She did seem awfully tired.

"Hey," Joey said, nudging her elbow with his and slapping the playful grin on his face that so marked his uneven jaw.

"Hey," she said back immediately, not missing a beat. Her response was almost too quick, like he'd woken her up from dozing off into dreamland. She turned to him and beamed, positively beamed, at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling a bit but her eyes themselves widening with her teeth. She still looked tired, but she was obviously happy about either it or something else.

"Enjoying L.A.?" he asked her, unable to stop himself from smiling back just as broadly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brian be pushed back from the ring of girls again.

"Love it, as always," Jaime said. "Still sunny, still full of life." The cars that zipped past on the blackened, tarred ground just beyond the sidewalk ledge, the people waking behind and in front of them, the bustling stores. She was right. Still sunny, still full of life. Even the sunset looked warmer than usual, it had a lot more red to it than normal, as opposed to the pink/purple it usually was.

"Still," he agreed, looking around. "It also still has gas fumes and sound pollution." He grinned cheekily.

"And Darren Everett Criss!" Jaime countered, distracting Darren from his handshake.

"What was that?" he asked. Matt huffed in pretend irritation.

"I was just saying that this place is still awesome 'cuz you're here," Jaime told him honestly.

"Awesome, but you're here too, which makes it ten times better," the afro-head countered.

"I love you, Darren," said Jaime, rolling her eyes.

"Come on," Matt demanded of Darren, "Again!" and they went back to practicing.

"This city also has me," Joey said, jutting out his lower lip and giving her puppy dog eyes.

"When you pretend to pout, it just looks like you have a lip deformation," she informed him jokingly. A gust of wind blew suddenly, and she flicked hair out of her eyes uselessly; the wind blew it right back, and then died off, leaving just the luke-warm air to accompany them to the restaurant. Joey watched Brian take advantage of the girls fixing their hair and succeed in entering the circle, commanding them to kneel before him.

"Is it because of my jaw?" he asked, brushing the hair out of her face automatically. She flushed pink as his fingers brushed the nape of her neck, having tucked the lock of hair behind her ear. It was a flattering shade of pink, and it tinted her cheek becomingly, making her blue eyes seem even bluer.

"Yes, because of your jaw," he was told, and then she asked, "Where are we going, again?"

"To this little diner that Darren and I like," he said, "Nickel Diner. It's great, it -"

"I know, I've been there," she cut him off.

"You have?" when had she been to L.A. before, unless she was visiting them (and she always ate with them when visiting)? "When?"

"When I was little, my mom took me here while my dad was really sick with pnuemonia," she told him. "Like, _really_ sick, and she didn't want me to catch it because it was so bad. We asked my aunt to take care of him, and she was glad to, because even if she got sick, she's the kind of person who would tell the disease to back off and just go about her daily business. My mom brought me here for a two-week-long vacation, since it was winter break, and she took me there."

"Wow," was all he could say in response. She never talked about her parents. He had always assumed they were bad ones and that was why she never brought them up, but they sounded just fine to him. "Did you do anything else while you were here?"

"Oh, lots of things," she said, beginning to get animated. "We went to the theater a lot, saw some great movies. Ate in lots of cool restaurants, went to a water park, and went shopping in Hollywood."

"Sounds like what Darren and I do on a weekly basis."

Jaime rolled her eyes again. "Darren works and you look for work on a weekly basis, Joey."

"Hey, I'm on Jesse," he argued.

"Barely," she teased. "As a cop who can't act. You play that well."

He shoved her shoulder with his own, and she laughed at him. And then, amidst the smiles and giggles, they both heard the shrieks of the girls in front of them growing louder. Turning to look, they saw Loki being shoved (with hardly any pressure) around by the females. "Enough!" Brian demanded loudly. "I - am - a - _God_! I am _not_ going to be _bullied_ by some -"

Joey knew where it was heading, but his guffaws joined the chuckles of everyone else as the girls all wailed into him, punching and kicking and pretending to injure him. As they all backed away from him, who had tears of mirth in his eyes and was clutching his side (both in an attempt to stay in character and to stop laughing so hard), they all screamed, in semi-perfect unison, "PUNY GOD!"

Jaime's eyes were sparkling with humor, glinting with the lights of the city they walked through. Her gold peals of laughter rang with the rest of them, but they added a musical touch, something Jaime couldn't help doing, even when she so much as whispered. And then, abruptly, as everyone else's chuckles were beginning to fade, hers cut off completely and she bit her lip and blinked several time, as she did when she was about to cry.

"Jaime?" Joey asked, concerned, but then the expression disappeared and she was smiling again, and it looked genuine; but then, he knew what a great actress she was.

"Yes?" she asked in response, feigning innocence.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice slowly fading out, as her laughter _should_ have.

"No, Jaime." He stopped walking and grabbed her elbow so she had to stop walking, too. "What's wrong?"

Her blue eyes did not want to reveal anything. He searched them, studied her face, for any sign of emotion other than innocence and cluelessness, but found none. "Nothing," she said. And then, in an odd turn of events, she turned her head to the sky, craning her neck back, looking at the colors of the sunset. "Beautiful sunset," she remarked. "But I like the stars better, especially when you see them from on top of a roof." And then she looked at him meaningfully. He didn't have to question her to understand - simply specify.

"Midnight?" he murmured softly.

"Midnight," she repeated, confirming.

"We're here!" Darren announced, from several feet in front of them, pointing to the door of the Nickel Diner.

~-\./-~

Getting into her hotel had been easy, getting to the top floor easiest, and locating a way to the roof had been very, very difficult. But he'd found it, after conveniently walking by a janitor's cart and taking the closet key; the janitor's closet had two door, one to go through, and one that led to a fire escape that went up one way and down another, the way up leading to the roof. He opened the door as quietly as he could and paused immediately, hearing a sound he did not like _at all_.

He stepped onto the fire escape, hoping he'd dreamed it, but no, it only got louder. Shutting the door behind him, after tossing the key into the hall through the two openings, he started up the stairs, careful at first, silent, hoping to give her time to either calm down or realize she wasn't alone anymore. But she seemed oblivious to his presence. Knowing he wasn't doing her any good where he was, he bounded up the steps loudly and quickly, and didn't stop moving when he reached the top, her being his only destination now.

There she was, her hair tousled by the night breeze, curled up in a fetal position and weeping her eyes out. Her shoulders shook heavily and they gasped for air in between individual sobs. Why was she so sad? The sounds coming from her chest and mouth were inhumane; he was surprised that she hadn't waken anybody up. He was tempted to call out her name, but found himself laying down beside her and stretching his arms around her and the little ball she'd turned herself into.

She looked up from her knees and her watered-over eyes looked at him desperately, the hurt and anguish there nearly making him cry, too. Who had hurt her so badly? Why was she like this? He'd never seen her so upset before, and every breath she took that was preceded and followed by a gulping, tear-inducing, heart-wrenching sob made him shake along with her. His own eyes grew hot, but he wouldn't allow them to grow wet; she needed to know he was her strong tower, there for her to take refuge in.

She released her fetal position and curled into him, instead, her head resting on his shoulder, staining his shirt with saltwater. Her right knee nestled between his and her left knee behind it, her arms clutching his shirt like he was a lifeline. He closed his eyes when she closed hers and held her as tightly as he could.

He had no idea how long it was before her clutching hands turned to embracing one and when, exactly, it was cuddling and not comforting, but it seemed like a few short minutes, though it had to have been an hour or so. Her eyes were puffy and both they and her nose were red. She seemed ashamed of herself for losing control, but he was very, very confused and very, very worried. He didn't know what to say - to ask! - or even to speak; the silence seemed like law at the moment.

Finally, Jaime broke the silence. "My dad died from that pneumonia," she told him, her voice little over a whisper. "It took him three years, and even though he seemed healthy, he wasn't. The virus was there, slowly killing him from the inside out. He was murdered by a disease."

"That's…" he had absolutely no idea how to response. The fact that she was sharing this, something so private and so primitively grievous, with him when she'd hardly said a word like this to anyone else meant a great deal to him; but, sadly, it was primitively grievous, and he didn't know how to comfort her with words. "That's awful. Is that was what bothering you today?"

"It's always bothering me, Joey, but that's not what made me nearly slip up." She seemed in control of her voice, but it was raw, scratchy - he wondered if she felt cathartic, or like the inside of her was full of humidity.

"What did make you nearly slip up?" he asked her, making his voice as gentle as possible, though the curiosity - the desperation - to know and stop whatever it was was almost too much.

She hesitated, seeming to weight her options for a moment, and then rolled out of his arms and onto her back, and sat up, facing the city lights, only her feet and butt sitting on the cold cement of the rooftop. He followed her example, looking out at the city. The lights were fantastic, as it always was, and the stars were glittering prettily down at them; the soft chorus of car horns and people talking into the breezy air wafted towards them, a pleasant background noise. He looked at her, and instead of the wonder of the city dying down in comparison to her, it livened up. That was one of the many things he loved about her - she was amazingly beautiful, but not in the way that made others feel worse about themselves. Her just entering a room made everyone in it take a hint of self-esteem, made them feel better, and that always pleased Jaime, making people happy. Everything, even inanimate objects, were better in her presence. But she was sad, and seemed to miss that right now; was she comparing herself to the splendor of the town in which she sat?

"My mother and I used to find constellations," she told him, switching topics suddenly. A bit confused but willing to listen, he nodded. "When I was about ten, she and I would just lay on our roof, staring at stars, finding their patterns and people and places. We checked out nearly every book in the library on constellations. We'd find one, and we'd discuss it's name, where it originated, what it was supposed to represent. After a while, each constellation had a different meaning than what was given to it, depending on what had happened that day when we discussed it. That," she said, pointing above them, "The Big Dipper. That was the day my father died. I'd never seen my mother cry so hard, ever. So I took her up to the roof and we just laid and look at the stars, talking calmly.

"But we gave the books back to the library and we fizzled out of our constellation phase until all that was left were memories and scattered meanings. The stars stayed there, though, and on a particularly rough day, we'd just go up to the roof and watch the stars. When I moved out, went to college, when I had a bad day, I'd get on the phone and we'd lay on our separate roofs, and talk."

Joey was touched to the core. This story was sweet, beyond sweet, and Jaime looked both so strong and vulnerable while telling it. Her sharing this story of her childhood, which he'd hardly heard about before, made him want to throw a blanket over them and look at the little gold, twinkling pins that shined down from the black velvet over their heads. But he just sat and listened, too awe-struck to comment.

"I got a call," she said, continuing after quite a long pause, "the day before we left. From the fire Department of my mother's town."

Joey had a terrible feeling that he knew where this was going, and the starry-eyed illusion shattered. He stared at her, scared of taking his eyes off of her, for fear she would dissolve again. Her cheeks were already shining with the tracks of tears. He didn't need anymore to fight off.

"My mother was sleeping," Jaime said, her voice small, like a child's. "She had just gone to sleep, using the sleep pills that she always uses; that was why she didn't wake up when the heater made the curtains catch fire. And why she still didn't wake up when the curtains made her bed catch fire. But she did wake up eventually, at what point I don't know." Jaime closed her eyes and her chin sank a bit, the rest of her head going with it. "But the neighbors heard her screaming and called the cops, but the fire station didn't get there until she'd already stopped screaming."

"She got out?" Joey asked. "I mean, if she stopped screaming, she was safe, right?"

Jaime shook her head viciously, opening her eyes and glaring at the roof. "She stopped screaming because she was dead, Joey. Burned alive." The words were spoken so harshly he couldn't help but flinch away.

He had no idea how to help her. He was clueless. He wanted to make her stop crying, but she wasn't; he wanted to make her stop yelling, but she was silent. He wanted to hold her, but she was doing that on her own just fine, clutching both shoulders with the opposite hand in a self-embrace, her elbows resting on her raised knees.

"I'm sorry, Jaime," he whispered, feeling the tears well in his eyes. "I didn't - I, I mean…"

"No, it's okay," she told him, her voice much softer, much more of a caress, a reassurance, than the snap it had been. "I just… I don't know what I'm going to do without her. She was always there, and… and when I got the call, I just went up to the roof and cried and cried because I couldn't make myself look anymore." She shook her head, pitying herself as if she was a different person. "It was pathetic."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Joey inquired tenderly, moving onto his knees and moving quietly over to her. "You didn't have to come, you could have gone to her funeral -"

"No, I couldn't have," she disagreed, shaking her head. "Every night, I get up around one in the morning and make funeral arrangements, because I don't want the girls to hear or know. Because if they did, they'd make me go to her funeral. And I won't do that, Joey. I'm not going to look at some coffin and pretend that I'm going to be okay. Because if I do, I just know I won't let them close it and bury her, and I'll never leave. She's never left me and I never wanted her to." Joey wiped away a hot tear that spilled over quickly, not wanting her to see it - but she was looking at her feet, though her eyes explained she was somewhere else entirely. "I'll probably just stare at the stars, pretending that she'd doing it where she is, too, except it'll always catch up to me that she doesn't have a roof to be on anymore 'cuz her house burned down. And I won't have someone to talk to when a day goes wrong, someone to pick me up when I'm down. I don't. She's been taken away. Away from me, when she _promised_ she never would be!" She wasn't angry, but devastated, and shouted for all the world to hear.

"You have me," he said, before he could think. His hand placed itself on her shoulder and his thumb massaged her shoulder blade, and it was automatic - he couldn't stop it. "You can talk to me when a day goes badly, and I'll pick you up when you fall. I promise."

"She promised, too," Jaime said, her voice nearly incomprehensible as a small breeze blew her hair back from her face.

"Yes, and she's keeping that promise. She's still here, Jaime, she'll never leave you," he told her seriously. "Whenever you think of her, remember her, wish for her, she's here, just waiting for you to know that, just waiting for you to realize that as long as you acknowledge her, she'll never be _gone_. Not really."

Though she looked reassured for a moment, her face fell again. "But I just… what am I going to _do_?" And both her voice didn't just break, it tore - as did his heart. Hearing her voice out loud the fear and grief she felt made him feel it, too, and it was horrible.

"You're going to be a wonderful singer, a stunning actress, and a beautiful woman," he told her, his voice as thick as hers. "And you're going to do it with me, because I'll always be with you, too."

"Always?"

"Always," Joey said.

And then Jaime sniffed and giggled, wiping her watery eyes with her wrist. "You sound like Snape."

"Well, Snape was Lily's best friend," he said, smiling at her, and she smiled back, her eyes alight with more than one emotion that tugged at his already-splintered heartstrings. It was a second where he wondered if Jaime was real. Not in the 'are-you-an-angel' sort of way, because that was way too cheesy and surreal and false to be compared to her, but the 'there-is-no-way-someone-so-_good_-exists' way. She was tender, warm, compassionate, beautiful. And then he knew what he could do to really cheer her up. "But Snape never got to kiss Lily."

"Wha-" she hadn't even finished the confusedly-spoken word before he'd placed his lips on hers.

She tasted of bliss, of paradise, of happiness and joy and ecstasy, but underneath the calm beauty there was a storm raging, a storm of hurt and despair. But Joey would not stop until that despair had disappeared, until he'd healed it, because he'd be damned before he let her feel helpless and hopeless again. Because how she was making him feel right now was the most surreal he'd ever felt, and maybe she was an angel - no, she was human, and the most kind and humane person he'd ever meet and ever love.

Love. What a common, over-used and under-felt word to describe the small-but-growing ball of anxiety and pleasure in his stomach. It was more than that. But all he could give her was himself; not more. What was he thinking? She had more! They had more. Because they had one thing in common - a heart. They had one heartbeat, one love, one vital organ that they shared between them; it was the very same. There's no such thing as a Heart-to-Heart, because when you're with someone so intimately, so privately, the two hearts become one.

Sometimes, he thought, as he pulled back slowly from her, the two hearts never become two again. Sometimes they're intertwined and merged for all of eternity.


	7. Drabbles (1-4)

**Didn't Tell Me - Julan (Dylan Saunders/Julia Albain) Drabble**

"Dylan!" Julia sang, dropping her keys on the couch and shedding her coat. "I know you're here!" She threw the jacket onto the arm and then flopped over it backwards, so her knees were in the air and her back against the cushions. "Brian told me!"  
"Fuck," muttered Dylan, his footsteps sounding from the kitchen as the sound of a chair scraping across the foor accompanied them. He appeared in the room in no time, his head just visible of her knees, his smile genuine. "Why'd he tell you that?"  
"You know he's a troll," she said simply, and wiggled her feet at him. "Apparently you got two tickets to The Perks of Being a Wallflower and I came to mind?" she asked, her tone innocent and playful.  
"Is there anything he didn't tell you?" he asked, ambling towards her and grabbing her ankles to stop her kicking. It didn't help, she just jiggled his arms along with her feet and he grinned at her persistence.  
"He didn't tell me _why_," she said, making it very clear she was inviting him to tell her.  
"You know why," he said, giving a small smirk before setting his knees on the arm of the couch on either side of her own.  
"What are you doing?" she laughed, and began scooting backwards as he started climbing with the sure, not-quite-fast-but-not-slow movements he used. "Are you going to jump on top of me?"  
"_Lay_ on top of you," he corrected, and then did jump on top of her, his chest pushing into hers and his forehead banging against her nose painfully. They both cried out and then started laughing in earnest, their movements shaking the couch under them, Julia's hand moving to rub the bridge of her nose and Dylan resting his forehead in the crook of her neck and shoulder.  
"Any particular reason you chose to break my nose?" she teased, kissing the top of his head.  
"Had to make sure you were nice and bruised before we went to see the movie," he said cheerfully, bringing his chin up to rest on her collarbones and grinning that jokester grin at her. "Everyone's got to think I'm abusing you!"  
"That's not funny," she said, but she smiled. "Especially since you're doing the opposite."  
"So I'm un-abusing you?"  
"Shut up, goofball," she whispered, and shoved him off of her so that he rolled onto the floor with a resonating thud.  
"Ow!" he complained, but a chuckle escaped with the cry.  
Julia then managed to roll off the couch herself and land on top of him this time; except now, nobody got hurt, and the only things smashing together were their lips.

* * *

**Hug - Mily (Lily Marks/Matt Lang) Drabble**

"Matt! Mattmattmattmatt - MAA-AAATTTT!"  
Lily knew she was being senseless, and Matt was fushing red as he hugged Devin hello. But Lily had yet to see him, and she was excited. Understandably so. Devin glanced back at her with a knowing look, and moved on to the next friend so Lily could pounce on Matt Lang. And she did. She pounced.  
She jumped, leapt, practically tackled the man, and the sound that bubbled from her throat was a mixture of laughter and a scream and a sob because all at once it hit her. They were here. Really here. For the last Harry Potter musical, and Darren wasn't here, and there were still people coming, and she hadn't seen that person or this person or there or they in forever and - and she was hugging Matt. Though proximity to him tended to make her more alert of things, actual pysical contact made it very difficult to focus on that stuff that wasn't him. The sob got caught in her throat by her laughter and her laughter was rangled by her scream and the end result was something like a dying whale who was burrying her red face in his shoulder.  
"Hey Lily," said Matt, and Lily, who'd been focusing on breathing, just then realized that he had his arms around her as the last time he'd hugged her goodbye. The memory only increased the sad feeling and the observant state she was in. He was very close to actually clutching her to him, and though when he'd been greeting the others he'd seemed genuinely happy there was a catch in his voice that hadn't been present before. His hands gripped her shoulders to him so she couldn't pull away, and he was leaning into her as well, counting on her to support him. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him so close she could feel the quickened thrumming of his heart, beating in perfect time with hers.  
"I missed you," she murmured gently, the words rolling off her tongue.  
"I missed you, too," he whispered back, his voice breaking through it was just an insinuation. When his voice broke, a small part of her heart did.  
"I'm here now," she told him.  
"I know," he said, and he pulled back ever so slightly, and though they were now both supporting their own heads with their own necks, his fingers only tightened on her shoulders, but for his left hand, which reached up to flick at the mess of a bun she'd twirled her hair into that morning. She smiled widely at him when he said, "And you'd better not leave anytime soon."  
"I'm never really gone, you know," she told him jokingly, and then leaned in as if expecting to brush her lips against his - and at the last moment, she jerked her head to the side and kissed his cheek. "But that kiss is!" And she bounced away, only to have him grab her hand and pull her back for another hug, this one looser but somehow more intimate - maybe it was because she couldn't tell if the sharp movements of his body were laughs or sobs.

* * *

**Popcorn - Rosytle (Brian Rosenthal/Devin Lytle) Drabble**

"Hey!" exclaimed Brian, jumping up from his seat on the couch as the popcorn spilled all over him. The separate pieces went flying all around when the bowl flew out of Devin's hand as she tripped over the edge of the couch she was trying to sit down on. The ground - and Brian's feet - rushed up at her and she threw her hands out to break the fall. But it did little good. Her right hand smacked the popcorn bowl and bounced off, going across her chest and knocking her left hand away; she tried to pull them back but she ended up landing on her wrist, her entire arm twisted in an extremely uncomfortable and by no means painless position.  
Devin inhaled sharply and rolled over onto her stomach, as the couch refrained her from rolling onto her back, and clutched at her wrist, shutting her eyes tightly against it. The tip of her head hit Brian's shoe and she heard him ask, "Devin? You okay?"  
"Fine," she nearly spat, forcing the words through her teeth. Little knives were shooting from her wrists, sprinting up and down her arm toward her elbow and making the tips of her fingers tingle. She wrinkled her nose, scrunched up her face, as if that would contain the pain.  
"Devin?" he asked again, nervous now, bending down to her side. "Are you okay? Seriously? Did you hurt your wrist?"  
It was times like this she wished she didn't have a southern accent, because swearing at him wouldn't have the same ring to it if it sounded so natural. "No, I'm curled up in the fetal position for my enjoyment," she snapped, and bit back a moan as she accidentally gripped too tightly and her wrist sent another spasm up her arm and she jerked it unwillingly.  
"Let me see," he said, serious now. Devin could smell the spilled popcorn around her, tickling her, screwing up her hair, somehow lodging into her shirt. He pulled on her hand gently, getting it to release her other, and she opened her eyes when she was no lnger required to both squeeze and hold loosely. Carefully, he helped her sit up, without jostling her wrist. He picked it up as gently as he could, but she still winced when he made contact. "Does this hurt?" he asked, and poked her pressure point softly.  
She ground her teeth and lied through them. "No."  
"Devin."  
"Yes."  
"Right," he said, and sighed. She saw that there was popcorn in his hair, and reached up to snag a piece with her good arm before he could stop her, then plopped it in her mouth casually. He grinned. "I'd love to be your buffet," he told her, "But I should get you some ice. It's already swelling, see?" He pointed to the object in question and she observed, with some dismay, the puffy red swelling he spoke of.  
"Hurry up," she called after him, and only when he returned did she relax. He picked her up bridal-style and laid her on the couch so her feet were at the far end and when he sat down her head was in his lap.  
"Better?" he asked, pressing the ice to the wrist she had resting on her stomach.  
"Colder," she allowed.  
He snickered. "It ought to be," he said, " 'Cause you're out of ice."  
"Not out of popcorn, though," she remarked, and reached down to snag a piece off the floor.  
"We should clean that up," he sighed.  
"Tomorrow. Right now, I'm comfy." She popped the piece into her mouth and he grimaced as she ate off the floor - but she just smiled her thanks to him and closed her eyes once more, resting in his familiar, comforting presence.

* * *

**Picture - Breredith (Brian Holden/Meredith Stepien) Drabble**

Meredith sighed, her shoulders heaving with the gust of air she exhaled. Brian peeked around the corner of his bedroom doorway and saw her on the bed, her hair falling in wrinkled waves to her shoulders, sitting cross-legged and leaning up against the headboard, her eyes moving across the webpage she was surfing as she read it. A smile played at her lips, and before Brian could make his presence known, she shut the laptop and slid it off her lap and to the floor beside the bed, making sure to handle it gently so it wouldn't get hurt. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Brian's phone wallpaper was already a picture of her. A picture of her eating pie, no less, but it wasn't the funny kind of picture where she'd shove it all in her mouth. No, she had her fork poised above the pie, about to take another bite, and was looking off to the side at someone who wasn't in the picture, laughing. It had made his stomach tighten a good number of times just when he turned his phone on, and he'd used the excuse of checking the time to continue looking at it when he knew he shouldn't be. But as she unhooked her legs and slid down the headboard, her hair becoming ruffled by the pillows and her shirt hiking up the smallest bit so a sliver of her stomach showed, he felt that same tightening, but more sharp - and he reached for his phone.

Unfortunately, she saw the movement and sat back up. "Tweeting again?" she asked.

"No," he said guiltily. "I was going to take a picture of you for my phone background."

She raised her eyebrows. "Aren't I already your phone background?"

"Yes," he said.

She shrugged. "At least you weren't tweeting," she said. "You're torturing the fans, you know, with that video."

"Did you see Eric's reply, though?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation when he shifted his body to lean against the side of the doorway so he was standing directly in it.

"Just now I did, yeah," she replied, and wiggled her fingers at him, flopping back down among the sheets again, beckoning him closer.

He raised his phone.

She sat up. "Nope!" she said. "Saw that!"

"Why won't you let me take a picture?" he asked, sauntering into the room like a lion stalking its prey - well, more like Igor, since he was trying to make her laugh.

It worked, and her giggles, like little golden bells, filled the room. "Because I don't look good enough," she said.

"You always look good enough," he said, slipping out of his ridiculous pose and straightening, putting his phone on the bedside table.

"That's sweet," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "But it's, like two in the morning, and I'm tired and want to sleep. Can it wait 'till tomorrow?"

Brian sighed an exaggerated sigh, much like the one she had just a minute ago, and sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up and laying back so he was next to her. "I suppose," he grumbled, but then made sure she saw his smile.

"Good, now come here," she said, and rolled onto her side so she was facing him, her hands finding his chest like they usually did as he scooted closer to her, putting one palm underneath her cheek and one arm wrapped around her torso. "I need my beauty sleep," she informed him, and her next words were spoken with a yawn. "I'm getting my picture taken tomorrow, you know."


	8. Rocks Against Love (Jailan)

Jaime slung her arm around Dylan's shoulder as he slung his around her waist. The lights were hot, the air thick, the crowd loud, the music louder and both of them were overheated and tired and they loved it. They were performers, these things excited them. Though beads of sweat were forming underneath Jaime's bangs and Dylan was taking deep breaths, this last performance of Sami/Harry had been magnificent. Strong, confident, romantic. Hopeful, but still pining. Darren's song-writing was masterful, as was Clark's rearrangement of the song. This was only their third performance of the song arranged as it was, as this was only their third stop during Apocalyptour. But both of them leaned into the other, exhausted but bouncing with energy.

Looking back on it, perhaps it was the exhaustion that brought it on. Tired of just leaning on the other, just hugging, just snuggling. Exhausted on it. Or maybe it was the energy. The passion, the strength of it. Whatever it was, as soon as they were off stage, not caring that others were bustling around them, Jaime dropped her arm so her hand rested on his bicep and turned toward him, and then leaned in so her lips brushed hers.

In hindsight, maybe she should have thought about the fact that the mics could have picked up the sound by accident. Maybe she should have thought about how he'd respond. Maybe she should have thought about how their friends would react, seeing her just kiss him like that. Maybe she should have considered talking to them about it first. But she didn't and hadn't and wasn't going to. She just kissed him.

It was chaste and light and sweet. She didn't hold him to her, she allowed him the opportunity of pulling away. It was just pressing her lips to his, honest and good. She'd dreamed about this for months. Months and months and months and months. She'd wake up sweating, more tired than before, with him just a couple of bunks away. One time she'd curled up in his bunk beside her without thinking about it. Another time they'd all stayed up late watching an old Disney movie and she'd dozed off sitting on his lap. Another time he'd climbed down and asked her if she was okay, because she'd cried out - she'd woken only him up, though, somehow, and the others were fast asleep. _He_'d curled up next to _her_ that time.

Her dreams all started with them being alone. In a dark room, a closet, at rehearsal fetching some random prop, you name it. And they all ended when he was just about to kiss her.

She was done waiting for that ending. She wanted to make her own.

Jaime pulled back when she realized that her eyes had closed, and she blinked them back open slowly. The next song was being performed, but she couldn't focus on what it was. Some of the others, who weren't needed on stage at the moment, were staring at them. Rosenthal had his head cocked to the side and a smirk on his face, and Walker was laughing silently. But Dylan - Dylan still had his eyes closed, and his ears and cheeks were bright red. His face was adorable, like the boy in him had never grown up - it really hadn't, it had just learned how to swear. He was childish and hilarious and charming and adorable. And she'd finally just kissed him.

His eyelashes, longer than normal as she'd noticed on multiple occasions, fluttered open and those eyes that she'd grown so comfortable looking into seemed warmer now, almost molten. And he grinned his grin at her, but this one wasn't normal. This grin wasn't boyish and mischievous. This grin was soft, kind.

This time he leaned in.

Jaime inhaled sharply through her nose when his mouth came to hers again. The tingling, the shock, the electricity she'd felt before has been diluted by her memories and thoughts. This time it was all blown away, because he wasn't staying quite so pure. His lips parted and hers did automatically on response, and his hot breath smelled clean. His tongue poked at her lips, and her stomach tightened, twisted, sent goosebumps up and down her arms and she giggled.

He paused and pulled back, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. "Are you laughing at me?" he asked, his voice still low and husky, and it sent a shiver through her. She was vaguely aware that Walker and Rosenthal were stifling their laughter very poorly in a nearby corner. But she bit her lips, incapable of keeping the smile from them, and bit back another giggle.

"No," she answered, "I just - that was pleasant."

"So why are you laughing?"

"We're Starkids, we laugh at pleasant things," she used, just then noticing that she was breathless after kisses as small as that.

"So you'd laugh again if I did this?" he asked, and he bent to her once more.

She felt alive, lively, like she was ready to tackle the real Mayan Gods. Her blood ran cold through her veins with pleasure, something she hadn't even been aware was possible but felt with all of her now; the setting faded around them and it was just his somewhat salty lips and hers. She felt her stomach tighten again when his other hand moved to her waist, and another giggle ripped out.

"_Jaime_."

"I'm sorry!" she tittered, bringing her hands to her cheeks as she beamed at him. "It's just so - so nice to be able to, y'know?"

"Well, if you're going to laugh at me anyways," he said, with an over-exaggerated sigh - and then the hands he had on her waist leapt up and started tickling the sides of her stomach. She doubled over immediately, not expecting it, and she shrieked out a laugh before she made herself stop, afraid they'd hear. But there was nothing but applause from the audience. Not for them, for the song that had just been performed. That was over. But Jaime couldn't breathe, let alone focus on that. Dylan's fingers were tracing circles, poking randomly, drawing odd, shapeless designs invisibly into her side, and it sent tiny jolts of laughter into her. She forced herself to keep her mouth clamped shout, but snorts came from the back of her throat and wouldn't be silenced. It was highly unattractive, she knew. But she also knew he wouldn't care.

She somehow pushed his arms away from her and straightened, tears of mirth still in her eyes and her smile so wide it hurt her cheeks. "Now," Dylan said, before her open mouth could loose its own words, chuckles coloring his tone, "will you giggle again?"

"Probably," she answered, just as the others beckoned to them from stage.

"Good," he said, and gestured for them to go back out on stage, which they needed to do. "Then I'll wait 'till the end of the show."

"Not on my watch," she growled, and leaned forward to peck him again, her hand twisting around the fabric of his shirt before pulling him along, her head still floating in the clouds.

She was unsure how long it was out on stage. But by the time it was finished, the crowd had grabbed her attention back to them and the lyrics demanded she remember them, and the only contact she and Dylan had had was flirtatious glances that never lasted long enough for her liking.

And when the show was finally over and they all went off stage, the first thing she did was jump on him. Literally. She jumped as soon as the audience couldn't see them, leaped onto his turned back and locked her elbows onto his shoulders, her hands grabbing his shirt again, her legs hooking around his waist. He buckled backwards and for a second she thought he was going to fall over, but then he bent forward and his hands, dropping his microphone as she'd dropped hers, clamped onto her knees, and he hitched her further up so he could straighten a bit more. She laughed loudly. "I thought I'd knock you over!" she teased.

"Knock me out is more like it," he retorted.

"We need to help tear down," called Meredith.

"Wait, guys!" Jaime called. "I wanna show you guys a magic trick!"

"What trick, Jaime?" asked Joey, who was clearly not interested. The others didn't even bother paying attention. But for Walker and Rosenthal, who were grinning like the Cheshire Cat and making everyone turn around again to watch.

"I can make Dylan melt," she announced, loosening her legs and sliding down, her heels hitting the floor with a thud.

"Not now," said Brian, though he said it politely. "We need to help Clark and -"

"No, watch!" she demanded, and she spun Dylan, who she could tell from the look on his face knew what she was doing, back around to face her. And she kissed him... again.

He did melt.

Melted like chocolate. Right into her arms. His joints were loose, flowy, lanky, moving all over the place, and his hands fluttered around, unsure of where to go. His knees buckled like they had just a moment ago, and he pressed against her for support, not even really meaning to. She grabbed his upper arms to keep him standing, feeling her own self go limp but still standing. Her mouth moved on his in a dance that required no synchronized choreography, that was flawless even when performed by the most amateur dancers. Her tongue traced the inside of his cheek, and his painted over her lips; his own were warm and tender and just lush with emotion unsaid.

But she broke away, because they did, after all, have an audience. But she felt odd doing it, wrong. Very wrong. Like being separated from him was something she'd have to fight never to do ever again. But she let her hand clasp his tightly as he righted himself. "Fuck, Jaime," he muttered, and she noticed his mouth was the tiniest bit swollen and very, very red, though it might have been from her lipstick.

"I agree," she added, and turned to look at the assortment of shocked but happy faces.

"Imagine," said Dylan, who was currently somewhat cradling her, "how long it would have taken if you hadn't kissed me."

She giggled again. She'd done it really often since she'd done the aforementioned act, but her giggles were odd. More like she was sniffing something foul and gargling at the same time but was happy about it. But she still giggled. In her current position, she was curled up into a loose little ball between the back of the small couch and Dylan's outstretched form. His one arm was around her shoulders and his other was resting loosely on her stomach, their fingers intertwined behind her knees. She was wearing her pajamas and he was in a t-shirt and black sweatpants. Both sets of feet were bare but they were under a thick blanket, warm and cozy, as the TV glowed mutely. "Probably quite a long time," she said. "Why do you think that is?"

"What is?" he asked. "Why Ariel ran off and got married when she was sixteen to a guy she'd only known for three days?"

Jaime laughed as he critiqued the little mermaid. "No, why it would have taken so long for it to happen," she said. "Us, I mean."

She couldn't very well miss how he stiffened and a thought flashed across her mind she only voiced because of the paranoia it left behind. "There is an _us_, right?"

"Yes," he said. "As a group. The Starkids."

"But..." suddenly the paranoia seemed a lot less fake. "Individually? Together? I thought..."

"I thought, too." He said it with a hint of finality. "I thought about it a lot, actually. I think - Jaime, don't get me wrong, I'd love for there to be an 'us' with just us two, but Starkid, as an 'us', as a whole - that it might be better if there... wasn't."

Her mind was racing. She could feel, as if her entire body was distant, her hands get clammy and her whole frame just freeze, the breath lodged in her throat. "Any particular reason why?" No, no! She sounded so much colder than she wanted to! She wanted to play this off, shrug it off. It had been less than two hours. This was no big deal. _This should be no big deal_. And yet she felt her blood run cold, and not as it had earlier, not from pleasure. From a hazy sort of terror.

"Yes," he said, and he sighed. "You know the fans think certain pairings more than others. Like you and Joey."

"Some pairings don't _exist_, Dylan," she said, almost snapped. "They're figments of over-active imaginations."

"And some do," he said calmly, though it was clear that she was upsetting him by how strained that calm voice was. "Like Brian and Meredith, or Lauren and Walker."

"And we exist too, right?" she asked, and her voice was edgy, temperamental. She uncurled her legs and sat up straight, looking directly ahead of her, not at him. "We're real? Not figments?"

"Figments of our imaginations," he murmured.

"There's no way I'm imagining that you kissed me back," she accused.

"No, I did," he said, on the defensive now. "But I shouldn't have. Jaime, I -"

"Please," she said, and it was somewhere between a snort of derision and a plead.

"Just listen to me!" he exclaimed, sitting up next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, which she promptly shook off. "It's not because I'm scared of commitment, or whatever you're thinking. I'd love to be committed to you. I would! But the fans, even some of our friends - they're not going to like it. And you know how much we love our fans, Jaime. Walker and Lauren and Brian and Meredith have kept their secrets well, just among us, and everybody already figured they'd already gotten together so it wasn't a shock. But you saw their faces when you kissed me! You saw how some of them smiled, and how some of them frowned. Walker thinks we're cute together but Lauren didn't like it. With the fans, it'll be like that, except they're not going to keep their opinions to themselves. They're'll be fighting, yelling, anger - we could ruin the fandom."

"You place too much importance on us, Dylan," she hissed. "Our fans are going to love us no matter what our choices and we're going to love them no matter their opinions. Jaime thinks I'd be better with Joey, you know it. That's the whole reason why she didn't like it, she'd expected it to be him. But I didn't want him. I wanted you." And then, in a low voice, she admitted something that seemed far too simple to be so elaborate. "You're the thing I look at when my eyes are closed."

"Jaime," he tried. "I see you when my eyes are closed, too. I see you when my eyes are open. You're all I see, all the time. You're like a lighthouse and I'm a lost boat out at sea. And there you are, promising safety and warmth and companionship but you're just beyond these rocky waters that I just can't get past. And I'm trying really hard to get past them but if I try and harder, for any longer, I'm going to put a hole in my hull and I'm going to sink like the Titanic. Maybe it's time I find a new lighthouse."

Jaime didn't want to respond. She set her elbows on her knees and propped her head up with her palms, because her throat was closing and her eyes were stinging and growing warmer. She swallowed around the lump but didn't remove it, and from her swallow came a choking sound that flew past her lips, and stole with it a bit of her resolve, with let loose a single tear that hovered at the edge of her eyes before sliding down her cheek slowly, its wetness paintings a shining trail.

Dylan moved out from under her quickly and took her head in his own hands as he slipped off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling in front of her. Her hands fell as he made her make eye contact with him. She could barely stand to look at them, those eyes that had a sheen of his own tears ready to fly, or rather fall. She closed her eyes and felt a small kiss where her tear had gotten to near her jaw. She was tempted to open her eyes but knew he'd just kissed away the first of many that would flow if she did.

"Jaime," he said. "I don't want to find a new lighthouse. But -"

"But the rocks are too treacherous, I get it," she tried to shout it at him, but it came out a broken whisper. "So stop trying to keep this lighthouse from crumbling because it doesn't need you to keep it up. More boats will come and some will care enough to get past the rocks."

"I care!" he said vehemently, his voice so harsh but pleading that she winced back into the couch, but his hands held her steady. "Do you want me to sink?"

"There's guaranteed boat repairs on the other side," she said slowly. "And the crew for the docks will be helping as best they can." An unspoken metaphor that the fans were the rocks and their friends were the dock crew made it all seem ridiculous. "The lighthouse isn't just going to watch you fight, you know. It's only on the opposite side of the rocks because you're pushing it away."

"Lighthouses stay put."

"In case you haven't noticed, Dylan, we're moving right now and despite the stupid fucking metaphor, I am actually a person."

"I thought it was good." He sounded disgruntled for a moment, which was just enough time to lighten the mood the tiniest bit. "And what good is a lighthouse against rocks?"

"What good are rocks against love?"

Silence. More compressing and thick than she had ever experienced before. All was silent.

"Love?" he finally spoke.

"Just, um... needed a rebuttal." Talking had gotten a lot more difficult as her throat constricted further.

"Love," he said, and it was as if the word was relish in his mouth, and he was tasting it for the first time and deciding it wasn't too bad. "Jaime?"

"I shouldn't have..." she was indecisive as her voice cracked and shot up an octave. She leaned against the palm of his right hand for support, unable to keep her head up anymore. It was warm, it was whole, and it was sturdy.

"I love you, Jaime."

"You probably didn't need to say it in front of the whole audience," said Walker, rolling his eyes at them as they rushed, arms around each other and huge smiles on their faces, from the stage. "I mean, I know it's like 'your song' now, but that doesn't mean you have to say you love each other in front of everyone in NYC."

"Platonic love," Lauren reminded her boyfriend. "They're good enough actors to make it seem like that." And she was gone, onto the next song.

"I do love you," Jaime said to him, spinning in his arms so her back was to his front and his arms were wrapped around his waist and tilting her head to the left as he nuzzled her ear with that goofball grin of his.

"I know, we just said so," he teased, and planted another kiss on her cheek teasingly before moving onto her lips.

"Think we're any closer to getting past the rocks?" she asked.

"What are rocks against love?"


	9. Land of Sweet Dreams (Braime)

"Bri?" Jaime called, knocking on his door. He hadn't responded to her texts and hadn't showed up when they'd had breakfast together. "Bri, are you in there?" Her fingers rapped on the door loudly.

And fro behind it she heard muffled shuffling and so she dropped her hand. When it swung open, she nearly jumped. His skin was sallow, almost translucent-looking, and he had huge purple bags under his eyes, which were rather red and swollen, like his nose and lips. His already scrawny form was slightly hunched over and without even asking, she knew - Brian was ill. "Are you alright?" she asked immediately, her hand flying to his forehead, which, despite the paleness, felt like a flame under her hand. "Oh, you've got a fever."

"I'b noticeb," he said, and his nose was obviously stuffed because he couldn't talk right. He sniffed loudly.

"Not to worry," she announced, resolving on the spot that she'd not attend the mall with the other girls that afternoon. "I'll take care of you." She shrugged off her jacket and poked her hand into his apartment, dropping it on the floor beside the door. He raised his eyebrows.

"I bon't tink -" and what he didn't think (she guessed that's what he said) was lost, because he was interrupted by a coughing fit. His hand flew to his mouth and curled around his lips as he bent forward, and she put her hand to her chest and made him straighten up, which only made him cough harder.

"Breath, Holden," she reminded him, and pushed him back into the room, following him and closing the door behind her. "You sit down on that couch right now."

"Jaibe," he argued feebly.

"No rebuttals; _sit_," she ordered. His coughing may have stopped, but it had been thick, heavy coughs and would be sure to return. She looked at him as he fell almost dramatically onto his couch, where, she noticed, there was no blanket. "Stay there," she commanded when he tried to rise, having seen the same thing. "I'll get you everything you need, okay?" She took her phone out of her pocket and quickly rattled off a text to Meredith, which read: _Brian's sick, I'm gonna skip today to take care of him. have fun w/out me :)_ She tossed it over to the chair while Brian rearranged himself on the couch, and then she vanished into the bedroom, where she stole the comforter from on top of his bed and dragged it to the living room, throwing it over him as best she could. "Better?" she asked. "Or too hot?"

"I'b cold," he answered, "Bod hod."

_I'm cold, not hot_, she translated mentally. "Poor thing," she sighed. "You're burning up, have you taken a fever reducer?" He shook his head.

She went into the kitchen and grabbed the pills from the cabinet above the sink, and then threw them into the living room, hearing a very soft thud that meant it had landed on a cushion. "Whad was dhe purpose of dhad?" he called to her, before he coughed violently again. So she reached back up into the cabinet, and pulled down a decongestant, tossing that, too, and hearing the satisfactory rattle of pills and surprised - but not injured - cry that meant she'd hit him. Skipping merrily into the living room, she grinned at him.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

"Nodhing," he grumped lazily, trying to twist the cap off the bottle and failing. She took it from him and handed it back when it was open. He grimaced at the display of her obviously superior-for-the-moment strength.

"That won't do," she told him. "That won't do at all." She straightened. "You stay right here," she ordered him again.

"I'b dot going anywhere!" he argued.

Brian shivered under the huge comforter. His feet were chilled to the bone and the rest of him felt a little like the temperature of snow; so cold it burnt. He knew staying under the blanket couldn't be helping his fever but he was freezing. He was almost afraid he'd be breaking out in cold sweats soon, but that was to be expected. He probably just had a nasty cold, that was all. Maybe the 24-hour flu. It'd be gone in a flash. But when he'd woken up that morning and rushed to the bathroom to vomit, it had felt like it'd be forever until he'd feel better.

Though with Jaime here, things were already starting to look up. She was bustling around the kitchen, and he could hear her use pots and pans and shuffle through the cupboards. He could hear her moving around, dancing sometimes by the rhythm of her feet. And though with anyone else the silence would have been awkward, with her he could just sit back and listen to the sound of her doing, living, being. A beautiful sound. He could fall asleep to it and wake up to it every day and be happy for the rest of his life. But his stupid coughs got in the way far too often and he found himself interrupting his marveling in her. Though after managing to choke down the decongestant they were far fewer, they were still full and loud and obnoxious and he just wanted them to stop.

"Hey, Bri!" she called, interrupting a long silent streak. "When is a paper not a paper?"

"Whad?"

"When it's turned into the teacher," she informed him, and she appeared from the kitchen carrying a long cutting board and atop it a bowl of something steaming and a glass of water.

"Dhad's terrible," he moaned as she set the 'tray' on his lap. "Whad's dhis?"

"This," she said, "is nutrition. Hot chicken-noodle delux, and a glass of cold water for that parched throat of yours." She bent down, through the steam, ad pecked his forehead - her lips felt like they were flames. They felt nice, he thought as she pulled away. When she sat down at his feet, the steam tended to drift toward her before it evaporated. He was reminded of a small lie his father had told him when he was young. On his seventh birthday, the candles blew out and all the smoke went directly into his face before he got the chance to do it himself, and he'd started shouting in frustration because nobody else had gotten a face full of smoke. His dad had waved it away, and told him, very seriously, "Son, clouds of anything tend to go to the best people." He'd believed it then and his previous good mood had been resuscitated, but as he grew he realized it had just been chance and a way to make him shut up. But as it curled toward her face, the tendrils playing with her hair, framing her chin, and then disappeared, he thought that maybe it had some truth to it.

"What do termites like to do for breakfast?" she asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

"I dunno," he said. "Whad?"

"Oakmeal," she said cheekily.

He groaned as he raised the spoon and dipped it into the soup (which looked delicious, with floating, plump noodles and diced chicken and little bits of carrot and celery and chunks of potato). "Dhad's awful," he complained, before he lifted the utensil to his mouth and put the soup inside. He knew Jaime was an okay cook, but this was heavenly. "Bud dhis is really good," he awarded her, shoveling more in his mouth.

"The jokes should be awful, I googled 'terrible jokes'," she told him brightly. "What does a hotdog salesman do when he's having fun?"

"He relishes id," Brian answered, swallowing. "I bow dhad one."

She laughed her almost-squeal of a laugh. "Okay, this one isn't a question - the Association for the Donation of Blood will now be known as the IV League."

"Jaibe, dhey're only gedding worse!" he said, but he had to laugh. Not because it was funny, it really wasn't, but because she was so enthusiastic in telling it.

"What do attorneys wear to work?" Her eyes were alight, just because she was making fun of herself and yet others at the same time - self-depricating humor, as she always said, was the best kind.

"Uh..." he actually thought about this one for a while. "Addorneys work widh law... law... law suits?"

"You got it!" she cheered. "Okay, what about this one? Where do Sith Lords shop?"

He laughed outright at this one, because the answer was obvious and pitiful. "Dhe Dardh Mall," he chuckled, trying not to spit his soup (which was hot enough to warm him from head to toe but not warm enough to scald his tongue) out as he did so.

"How do you make a moron think he's a paper plate?"

"Uh..." he couldn't guess. "I dunno. How?"

"Tell him he's a paper plate."

"D'oh!" he said, "Of course." He smiled as she giggled.

It went on like that for a while, until she started running out of jokes. But she was lively, active, excited, even. about sharing them with him, like it was the highlight of her day. And though he finished his soup and made himself drink the cold water, he actually told a few of his own. Eventually, she got to the last one she knew that was terrible: "A woman got wooden breast implants."

"Why dhe fuck would she do dhad?" he asked.

"It'd be great if this joke had a punchline," she said modestly. "Wooden tit?"

She waited for a moment and he let it sink in. "Oh, god, Jaime," he sighed.

"Hey, you said my name right," she said, her tone chipper. "Nose feeling a little less clogged?"

"A little," he admitted.

"Good," she said, and she sounded sincere, something he really did admire about her. She was always so honest, but hilarious. That in and of itself was a quality he only managed to pull off with sarcasm, which was over-exaggerated and obvious lies, so he couldn't even do it right. "Now - what's your favorite movie?" She leaned over his feet, flattening them into the cushion, and snatched the 'tray' off his lap, being careful not to upset the dishes when she stood.

"I don'd know," he answered, as she hurried into the kitchen and came back with empty hands. "Why?"

"Because we're going to watch it," she explained. "Well, you are, and I'm going to google more things to do when you're taking care of a sick person."

"Ad leasd pud in some efford," he teased.

"I did," she defended herself. "That soup was my mom's recipe, and I haven't made it in over a year, and I didn't have the recipe with me, so you're lucky I didn't burn the building down. _That_ is effort."

"Drying nod do burn a building down," he mused. "How dempding."

"I'm sure you're tempted every day," she shot back, kneeling down by the selection of DVDs strewn around the television. "Do you have any organizational system for these?" she asked, slightly exasperated, picking up_ Avatar: The Last Airbender | Book 2: Earth_ and _When Harry Met Sally_ in either hand. "I didn't even know you _had_ this movie."

"We could watch id," he suggested.

"Or we could watch this," she said, plucking _The Music Man_ from the ground and waving it under her eyes, batting her eyelashes jokingly. She then, in her angel's voice, sang "_There was looooooove, alll aroooooooouuuuuuund_ -"

"Enough!" he laughed. "Put it in."

And so she did.

Regardless of what she might have said before, she didn't ignore the movie and google other things to do. Instead, she climbed on top of the heavy comforter, and pressed the back of her hand to is forehead. "You're still really hot," she said, her smile slipping. "Are you sure you're not too warm?"

"I'm too cold," he said, wiggling his feet, not that she could see them. He meant his words, he felt, because the affects of the soup had worn off, that ice was slowly climbing inside him and coating everything.

She made a sound that was similar to that of a giggle but also a sigh, and her smile returned, but softer now. "If you're cold, so am I," she muttered, and she curled up on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder and both their heads turned toward the TV. She was a little ball of warmth, resting on him, but not crushing her with his weight because the blanket somehow allowed her heat to get through but not her heaviness. Not that he'd have minded her weight.

They sang along to the songs, quietly at first, and then as Brian's nose gradually cleared they got louder and louder until they were singing at the top of their voices. Because he was sick, he wasn't at the top of his game, but Jaime sounded magnificent. She mimicked registers, faked accents, and gave what was all-around the best performance he'd ever seen, even if she was two inches from his face and trying to be silly.

But they got to 'There was Love', Brian was suddenly more aware of everything. The way her hair frizzed near his nose, how she shifted and ticked her leg when she sang, how her hands had found their way from the blanket and her sides to his chest, and how her torso was pressed against his, so she was really laying on him now. How her skin reflected each change of lighting on the screen, how the natural light from the window filtering through the blinds slanted across her face gently, giving her a dappled halo. How her warmth was just enough, never too much, never too little; how he hadn't felt cold for a single second since she cuddled up to him. Neither of them sang this song, but both of them seemed to have the same idea; because the curdling feeling in the pit of his stomach was completely different from what he'd awakened to, and was both pleasant and anxious - and how her eyes, so very, very blue, seemed to cradle him like her hands, which she brought up to rest on both his cheeks.

When Marian and Professor Hill kissed on screen, he brought his lips to hers.

Jaime's heart was acting very peculiar. For one, it was beating like a snare drum rolls its sound, constant and quicker than some are capable of doing. For two, it kept deciding when to skip a beat and when to do a group of four altogether randomly. For three, it seemed to be lodged in her windpipe, blocking her airway. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was kissing her.

He was kissing her.

His lips on hers were chapped but lovely, and the remaining tastes of her soup lingered on them, warm and comforting with such an unfamiliar and sudden action. His skin flared under hers, hot like dripping wax, his eyes closing just mere milliseconds before her own did. Without seeing, she could sense everything tenfold - how his heart was racing, too, under the blanket which suddenly seemed very thin, how he gasped a little bit when she brought him yet closer, her hands pulling him toward her further, how his hands under the blanket were fighting for their way up and when they escaped his burning palms grabbed her own face tenderly, cupping her cheeks as gently as if she were a rose.

She parted her lips when he parted his, his hot breath mingling with her own. Everything about him was hot, warm, heated, and so cozy that if she didn't feel like the electricity and adrenaline from kissing him was painting her insides like Van Ghogh, she'd have dozed off on him. His tongue poke her lower lip and she couldn't help the corners of her lips tugging up a little bit, and when her tongue met his she tasted bliss like she never had before.

But she broke away when his fingers knotted in her hair because she needed breath and she wasn't going to get it kissing him. She gasped when her lips stopped making contact, resting her forehead on his and nuzzling his nose as she detatched herself. He was panting, too, breathing even more heavily than she was. For a mere few seconds of kissing, they were really out of breath - and though it had been a chaste kiss, the amount of passion she felt making her blood run cold was incomprehensible.

"You're... still... sick, Brian," she reminded him between breaths, on his name exhaling sharply in a breathless giggle.

He didn't respond, but his own breathy chuckle joined hers, and for a moment their jagged laughter shook them, and she closed her eyes again, dropping her cheek to his collarbone. For a while, they caught their breath, and then she felt an abrupt change that somehow seemed premeditated. It was as if there never was any change, really, it was just in the foreground now, more prominent. Instead of exhilarated only, she felt both exhilarated and properly sleepy; not tired, not exhausted, just so warm and comfortable it was sleepy. She nestled her head further down, feeling his chin rest on the top of her head after his lips did.

"Sleep," he murmured, and it was neither an order not a suggestion, but a statement; and she let blackness swallow her, only Brian staying with her in her land of sweet dreams.


End file.
